• 


m 


inci3Lir 


ji^cr?™ 


'^lEA 


OF 


UICKs   DUKW   Hl.<   AND   tLAPPKU   ME   OVEU  TUE   HEAD  WITH   IT,    EVEN   AS   MY   FINGER 

CURLED  UN  TUE  TRIGGER.       Frontispiece.    Page  161. 


RAW  GOLD 


A  NOVEL 


BY 


BERTRAND  W.  SINCLAIR 


Illustrations  by 
CLARENCE  H.  ROWE 


Q.W.  DILLINGHAM  COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS  NEW  YORK 


Copyright,  1907,  by 
STREET  &  SMITH 


Copyright,  1908,  by 
G.  W.  DILLINGHAM  COMPANY 


Issued  June,  1908 


Raw  Cold 


CONTENTS 


^61 


OUAPTSB 


PAGE 


I. 

The  Long  Arm  of  the  Law   . 

7 

II. 

A  Reminiscent  Hour    . 

i8 

III. 

Birds  of  Prey 

30 

IV. 

A  Tale  Half  Told 

39 

V. 

Mounted  Again    . 

50 

VI. 

Stony  Crossing     . 

58 

VII. 

Thirty  Days  in  Irons     . 

69 

VIII. 

Lyn 

85 

IX. 

An  Idle  Afternoon 

103 

X. 

The    Vanishing   Act,   and 

the    Fruits 

Thereof 

116 

XI. 

The  Gentleman  Who  Rode  i 

n  the  Lead 

130 

XII. 

We  Lose  Again    . 

146 

XIII. 

Outlawed      .         .         .         , 

163 

XIV. 

A  Close  Call 

179 

XV. 

Piegan  Takes  a  Hand   . 

197 

XVI. 

In  the  Camp  of  the  Enemy   , 

214 

XVII. 

A  Master-stroke  of  Villainy  . 

226 

XVIII. 

Honor  Among  Thieves 

240 

XIX. 

The  Bison     . 

251 

XX. 

The  Mouth  of  Sage  Creek 

258 

XXI. 

An  Elemental  Ally 

271 

XXII. 

Speechless  Hicks 

283 

XXIII 

The  Spoils  of  War 

294 

XXIV. 

The  Pipe  of  Peace 

.    303 

mG92S'77 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


Hicks  drew  his  and  slapped  me  over  the  head  with  it,  even  as  my 

finger  curled  on  the  trigger       .....  Frontispiece    i6i 

Bedded  in  the  soft  earth  underneath  lay  the  slim  buckskin  sacks    .    159 

"There's  been  too  much  blood  shed  over  that  wretched  gold  al- 
ready.   Let  them  have  it" 212 

A  war  for  the  open  road  against  an  enemy  whose  only  weapon  was 

his  unswerving  bulk 356 


RAW  GOLD. 

CHAPTER  I. 

THE  LONG  ARM    OF   THE   LAW. 

HOW  many  of  us,  I  wonder,  can  look  back 
over  the  misty,  half-forgotten  years  and 
not  see  a  few  that  stand  out  clear  and 
golden,  sharp-cut  against  the  sky-line  of  memory? 
Years  that  we  wish  we  could  live  again,  so  that  we 
might  revel  in  every  full-blooded  hour.  For  we  so 
seldom  get  the  proper  focus  on  things  until  we  look 
at  them  through  the  clarifying  telescope  of  Time; 
and  then  one  realizes  with  a  pang  that  he  can't 
back-track  into  the  past  and  take  his  old  place  in 
the  passing  show. 

Would  we,  if  we  could?  It's  an  idle  question,  I 
know;  wise  men  and  musty  philosophers  say  that 
regrets  are  foolish.     But  I  speak  for  myself  only 

7 


8  RAW  GOLD 


when  I  say  that  I  would  gladly  wheedle  old,  gray- 
bearded  Tempus  into  making  the  wheels  click  back- 
ward till  I  could  see  again  the  buffalo-herds  darken- 
ing the  green  of  Northwestern  prairies.  They  and 
the  blanket  Indian  have  passed,  and  the  cowpuncher 
and  Texas  longhorns  that  replaced  them  will  soon 
be  little  more  than  a  vivid  memory.  Already  the 
man  with  the  plow  is  tearing  up  the  brown  sod  that 
was  a  stamping-ground  for  each  in  turn ;  the  wheat- 
fields  have  doomed  the  sage-brush,  and  truck-farms 
line  the  rivers  where  the  wild  cattle  and  the  elk 
came  down  to  drink. 

It  was  a  big  life  while  it  lasted — primitive,  ex- 
hilarating, spiced  with  dangers  that  added  zest  to 
the  game;  the  petty,  sordid  things  of  life  only  came 
in  on  the  iron  trail.  There  was  no  place  for  them 
in  the  old  West,  the  dead-and-gone  West  that  will 
soon  be  forgotten. 

I  expect  nearly  everybody  between  the  Arctic 
Circle  and  the  Isthmus  of  Panama  has  heard  more 
or  less  of  the  Northwest  Mounted  Police.  They're 
changing  with  the  years,  like  everything  else  in  this 


RAW  GOLD  0 


one-time  buffalo  country,  but  when  Canada  sent 
them  out  to  keep  law  and  order  in  a  territory  that 
was  a  City  of  Refuge  for  a  lot  of  tough  people 
who  had  played  their  string  out  south  of  the  line, 
they  were,  as  a  dry  old  codger  said  about  the  Indian 
as  a  scalp-lifter,  naturally  fitted  for  the  task.  And 
it  was  no  light  task,  then,  for  six  hundred  men  to 
keep  the  peace  on  a  thousand  miles  of  frontier. 

It  doesn't  seem  long  ago,  but  it  was  in  '74  that 
they  filed  down  the  gangway  of  a  Missouri  River 
boat,  walking  as  straight  and  stiff  as  if  every 
mother's  son  of  them  had  a  ramrod  under  his  tunic, 
and  out  on  a  rickety  wharf  that  was  groaning  under 
the  weight  of  a  king's  ransom  in  baled  buffalo- 
hides. 

"Huh!"  old  Piegan  Smith  grunted  in  my  ear. 
"Look  at  'em,  with  their  solemn  faces.  There'll  be 
heaps  uh  fun  in  the  Cypress  Hills  country  when 
they  get  t'  runnin'  the  whisky- jacks  out.  Ain't  they 
a  queer-lookin'  bunch  ?" 

They  were  a  queer-looking  lot  to  more  than  Pie- 
gan.    Their  uniforms  fitted  as  if  they  had  grown 


10  RAW  GOLD 


into  them;  scarlet  jackets  buttoned  to  the  throat, 
black  riding-breeches  with  a  yellow  stripe  running 
down  the  outer  seam  of  each  leg,  and  funny  little 
round  caps  like  the  lid  of  a  big  baking-powder  can 
set  on  one  side  of  their  heads,  held  there  by  a  nar- 
row strap  that  ran  around  the  chin.  But  for  all 
their  comic-opera  get-up,  there  was  many  a  man 
that  snickered  at  them  that  day  in  Benton  who 
learned  later  to  dread  the  flash  of  a  scarlet  jacket 
on  the  distant  hills. 

They  didn't  linger  long  at  Benton,  but  got  under 
way  and  marched  overland  to  the  Cypress  Hills. 
On  Battle  Creek  they  built  the  first  post,  Fort 
Walsh,  and  though  in  time  they  located  others^ 
Walsh  remained  headquarters  for  the  Northwest 
so  long  as  buffalo-hunting  and  the  Indian  trade  en- 
dured. And  Benton  and  Walsh  were  linked  to- 
gether by  great  freight-trails  thereafter,  for  the 
Mounted  Police  supplies  came  up  the  Missouri  and 
traveled  by  way  of  long  bull-trains  to  their  destina- 
tion; there  was  no  other  way  then;  Canada  was  a 
wilderness,   and   Benton   with   its   boats   from   St. 


RAW  GOLD  11 


Louis  was  the  gateway  to  the  whole   Northwest. 
Two  years  from  the  time  Fort  Walsh  was  built 
the  La  Pere  outfit  sent  me  across  the  line  in  charge 
of  a  bunch  of  saddle-horses  the  M.  P.  quartermaster 
had  said  he'd  buy  if  they  were  good.    I  turned  them 
over  the  afternoon  I  reached  Walsh,  and  inside  of 
forty-eight  hours  I  was  headed  home  with  the  sale- 
money — ten  thousand  dollars — in  big  bills,  so  that 
I  could  strap  it  round  my  middle.     I  remember  that 
on  the  hill  south  of  the  post  the  three  of  us,  two 
horse-wranglers  and  myself,  flipped  a  dollar  to  see 
whether  we  kept  to  the  Assiniboine  trail  or  struck 
across  country.    It  was  a  mighty  simple  transaction, 
but  it  produced  some  startling  results  for  me,  that 
same  coin-spinning.     The  eagle  came  uppermost, 
and  the  eagle  meant  the  open  prairie  for  us.     So 
we  aim^ed  for  Stony  Crossing,  and  let  our  horses 
jog;  there  were  three  of  us,  well  mounted,  and  we 
had  plenty  of  grub  on  a  pack-horse;  it  seemed  that 
our  homeward  trip  should  be  a  pleasant  jaunt.     It 
certainly  never  entered  my  head  that  I  should  soon 
have  ample  opportunity  to  see  how  high  the  ''Riders 


12  RAW  GOLD 


of  the  Plains"  stacked  up  when  they  undertook  to 
enforce  Canadian  law  and  keep  intact  the  peace  and 
dignity  of  the  Crown. 

We  had  started  early  that  morning,  and  by  the 
time  we  thought  of  camping  for  dinner  we  saw 
ahead  of  us  what  we  could  tell  was  a  white  man's 
camp.  It  wasn't  far,  so  we  kept  on,  and  presently 
it  developed  that  we  had  accidentally  come  upon  old 
Piegan  Smith.  He  was  lying  there  ostensibly  rest- 
ing his  stock  from  the  hard  buffalo-running  of  the 
past  winter,  but  I  knew  the  old  rascal's  horses  were 
more  weary  from  a  load  of  moonshine  whisky  they 
had  lately  jerked  into  the  heart  of  the  territory. 
But  he  was  there,  anyway,  and  half  a  dozen  choice 
spirits  with  him,  and  when  we'd  said  "Howdy"  all 
around  they  proceeded  to  spring  a  keg  of  whisky 
on  us. 

Now,  the  whole  Northwest  groaned  beneath  a 
cast-iron  prohibition  law  at  that  time,  and  for  some 
years  thereafter.  No  booze  of  any  description  was 
supposed  to  be  sold  in  that  portion  of  the  Queen's 
domain.    If  you  got  so  thirsty  you  couldn't  stand 


RAW  GOLD  13 


it  any  longer,  you  could  petition  the  governing 
power  of  the  Territory  for  what  was  known  as  a 
**permit,"  which  same  document  granted  you  leave 
and  license  to  have  in  your  possession  one  gallon  of 
whisky.  If  you  were  a  person  of  irreproachable 
character,  and  your  humble  petition  reached  his  ex- 
cellency when  he  was  amiably  disposed,  you  might, 
in  the  course  of  a  few  weeks,  get  the  desired  per- 
mission— but,  any  way  you  figured  it,  whisky  was 
hard  to  get,  and  when  you  got  it  it  came  mighty 
high. 

Naturally,  that  sort  of  thing  didn't  appeal  to 
many  of  the  high-stomached  children  of  fortune 
who  ranged  up  and  down  the  Territory — being 
nearly  all  Americans,  born  with  the  notion  that  it  is 
a  white  man's  incontestable  right  to  drink  whatever 
he  pleases  whenever  it  pleases  him.  Consequently, 
every  mother's  son  of  them  who  knew  how  rustled  a 
"worm,"  took  up  his  post  in  some  well-hidden 
coulee  close  to  the  line,  and  inaugurated  a  small- 
sized  distillery.  Others,  with  less  skill  but  just  as 
much  ambition,  delivered  it  in  four-horse  loads  to 


14  RAW  GOLD 


the  traders,  who  in  turn  "boot-legged"  it  to  whoso- 
ever would  buy.  Some  of  them  got  rich  at  it,  too; 
which  wasn't  strange,  when  you  consider  that  every- 
body had  a  big  thirst  and  plenty  of  money  to  gratify 
it.  I've  seen  barrels  of  moonshine  whisky,  so  new 
and  rank  that  two  drinks  of  it  would  make  a  jack- 
rabbit  spit  in  a  bull-dog's  face,  sold  on  the  quiet  for 
six  and  seven  dollars  a  quart — and  a  twenty-dollar 
gold  piece  was  small  money  for  a  gallon. 

All  this,  of  course,  was  strictly  against  the  peace 
and  dignity  of  the  powers  that  were,  and  so  the  red- 
coated  men  rode  the  high  divides  with  their  eagle 
eye  peeled  for  any  one  who  looked  like  a  whisky- 
runner.  And  whenever  they  did  locate  a  man  with 
the  contraband  in  his  possession,  that  gentleman  was 
due  to  have  his  outfit  confiscated  and  get  a  chance 
to  ponder  the  error  of  his  ways  in  the  seclusion  of 
a  Mounted  Police  guard-house  if  he  didn't  make  an 
exceedingly  fast  getaway. 

We  all  took  a  drink  when  these  buffalo-hunters 
produced  the  "red-eye."  So  far  as  the  right  or 
wrong  of  having  contraband  whisky  was  concerned, 


RAW  GOLD  15 


I  don't  think  any  one  gave  it  a  second  thought. 
The  patriarchal  decree  of  the  government  was  a 
good  deal  of  a  joke  on  the  plains,  anyway — except 
when  you  were  caught  defying  it!  Then  Piegan 
Smith  set  the  keg  on  the  ground  by  the  fire  where 
everybody  could  help  himself  as  he  took  the  notion, 
and  I  laid  down  by  a  wagon  while  dinner  was  being 
cooked. 

After  six  weeks  of  hard  saddle-work,  it  struck 
me  just  right  to  lie  there  in  the  shade  with  a  cool 
breeze  fanning  my  face,  and  before  long  I  was 
headed  smoothly  for  the  Dreamland  pastures.  I 
hadn't  dozed  very  long  when  somebody  scattered 
my  drowsiness  with  an  angry  yelp,  and  I  raised  up 
on  one  elbow  to  see  what  was  the  trouble. 

Most  of  the  hunters  were  bunched  on  one  side  of 
the  fire,  and  they  were  looking  pretty  sour  at  a 
thin,  trim-looking  Mounted  Policeman  who  was 
standing  with  his  back  to  me,  holding  the  whisky- 
keg  up  to  his  nose.  A  little  way  off  stood  his  horse, 
bridle-reins  dragging,  surveying  the  little  group 
with  his  ears  pricked  up  as  if  he,  too,  could  smell 


16  RAW  GOLD 


the  whisky.  The  trooper  sniffed  a  moment  and  set 
the  keg  down. 

"Gentlemen,"  he  asked,  in  a  soft,  drawly  voice 
that  had  a  mighty  famihar  note  that  puzzled  me, 
"have  you  a  permit  to  have  whisky  in  your  pos- 
session ?" 

Nobody  said  a  word.  There  was  really  nothing 
they  could  say.  He  had  them  dead  to  rights,  for 
it  was  smuggled  whisky,  and  they  knew  that  police- 
man was  simply  asking  as  a  matter  of  form,  and 
that  his  next  move  would  be  to  empty  the  refresh- 
ments on  the  ground;  if  they  got  rusty  about  it  he 
might  haze  the  whole  bunch  of  us  into  Fort  Walsh 
— and  that  meant  each  of  us  contributing  a  big,  fat 
fine  to  the  Queen's  exchequer. 

"You  know  the  law,"  he  continued,  in  that  same 
mild  tone.     "Where  is  your  authority  to  have  this 

stuff?"  I 

Then  the  clash  almost  came.  If  old  Piegan 
Smith  hadn't  been  sampling  the  contents  of  that  keg 
so  industriously  he  would  never  have  made  a  break. 
For  a  hot-tempered,  lawless  sort  of  an  old  repro- 


RAW  GOLD  17 


bate,  he  had  good  judgment,  which  a  man  surely 
needed  if  he  wanted  to  live  out  his  allotted  span  in 
the  vicinity  of  the  forty-ninth  parallel  those  trou- 
bled days.  But  he'd  put  enough  of  the  fiery  stuff 
under  his  belt  to  make  him  touchy  as  a  parlor- 
match,  and  when  the  trooper,  getting  no  answer, 
flipped  the  keg  over  on  its  side  and  the  whisky 
trickled  out  among  the  grass-roots,  Piegan  forgot 
that  he  was  in  an  alien  land  where  the  law  is  up- 
held to  the  last,  least  letter  and  the  arm  of  it  is  long 
and  unrelenting. 

"Here's  my  authority,  yuh  blasted  runt,*'  he 
yelled,  and  jerked  his  six-shooter  to  a  level  with  the 
policeman's  breast.  "Back  off  from  that  keg,  or 
I'll  hang  your  hide  to  dry  on  my  wagon-wheel  in 
a  holy  minute !" 


CHAPTER  11. 

A   REMINISCENT    HOUR. 

THE  policeman's  shoulders  stiffened,  and  he  put 
one  foot  on  the  keg.  He  made  no  other 
move;  but  if  ever  a  man's  back  was  eloquent 
of  determination,  his  was.  From  where  I  lay  I 
could  see  the  fingers  of  his  left  hand  shut  tight 
over  his  thumb,  pressing  till  the  knuckles  were 
white  and  the  cords  in  the  back  of  his  hand 
stood  out  in  little  ridges.  I'd  seen  that  before, 
and  I  recalled  with  a  start  when  and  where  I'd 
heard  that  soft,  drawly  voice.  I  knew  I  wasn't 
mistaken  in  the  man,  though  his  face  was  turned 
from  me,  and  I  likewise  knew  that  old  Pie- 
gan  Smith  was  nearer  kingdom  come  than  he'd  been 
for  many  a  day,  if  he  did  have  the  drop  on  the  man 
with  the  scarlet  jacket.  He  was  holding  his  pistol 
on  a  double  back-action,  rapid-fire  gun-fighter,  and 
only  the  fact  that  Piegan  was  half  drunk  and  the 


RAW  GOLD  19 


Other  performing  an  impersonal  duty  had  so  far 
prevented  the  opening  of  a  large-sized  package  of 
trouble.  While  on  the  surface  Smith  had  all  the 
best  of  it,  he  needed  that  advantage,  and  more,  to 
put  himself  on  an  even  footing  with  Gordon 
MacRae  in  any  dispute  that  had  to  be  arbitrated 
with  a  Colt ;  for  MacRae  was  the  cool-headed,  virile 
type  of  man  that  can  keep  his  feet  and  burn  powder 
after  you've  planted  enough  lead  in  his  system  to 
sink  him  in  swimming  water. 

There  was  a  minute  of  nasty  silence.  Smith 
glowered  behind  his  cocked  pistol,  and  the  police- 
man faced  the  frowning  gun,  motionless,  waiting 
for  the  flutter  of  Piegan's  eye  that  meant  action. 
The  gurgling  keg  was  almost  empty  when  he  spoke 
again. 

''Don't  be  a  fool.  Smith,"  he  said  quietly.  "You 
can't  buck  the  whole  Force,  you  know,  even  if  you 
managed  to  kill  me.  You  know  the  sort  of  orders 
we  have  about  this  whisky  business.  Put  up  your 
gun." 

Piegan  heard  him,  all  right,  but  his  pistol  never 


20  RAW  GOLD 


wavered.  His  thin  lips  were  pinched  close,  so  tight 
the  scrubby  beard  on  his  chin  stood  straight  out  in 
front;  his  chest  was  heaving,  and  the  angry  blood 
stood  darkly  red  under  his  tanned  cheeks.  Alto- 
gether, he  looked  as  if  his  trigger  finger  might 
crook  without  warning.  It  was  one  of  those  long 
moments  that  makes  a  fellow  draw  his  breath  sharp 
when  he  thinks  about  it  afterward.  If  any  one  had 
made  an  unexpected  move  just  then,  there  would 
have  been  sudden  death  in  that  camp.  And  while 
the  lot  of  us  sat  and  stood  about  perfectly  motion- 
less, not  daring  to  say  a  word  one  way  or  the  other, 
lest  the  wrathful  old  cuss  squinting  down  the  gun- 
barrel  would  shoot,  the  policeman  took  his  foot  off 
the  empty  cause  of  the  disturbance,  and  deliberately 
turning  his  back  on  Piegan's  leveled  six-shooter, 
walked  calmly  over  to  his  waiting  horse. 

Smith  stared  after  him,  frankly  astonished.   Then 

he  lowered  his  gun.    "The  nerve  uh  the  darned 

Say!  don't  go  off  mad,"  he  yelled,  his  anger  evap- 
orating, changing  on  the  instant  to  admiration  for 
the  other's  cold-blooded  courage.     "Yuh  spilled  all 


RAW  GOLD  21 


the  whisky,  darn  yuh — but  then  I  guess  yuh  don't 
know  any  better'n  t'  spoil  good  stuff  that  away. 
No  hard  feelin's,  anyhow.  Stop  an'  eat  dinner  with 
us,  an'  we'll  call  it  square." 

The  policeman  withdrew  his  foot  from  the  stirrup 
and  smiled  at  Piegan  Smith,  and  Piegan,  to  show 
that  his  intentions  were  good,  impulsively  unbuckled 
his  cartridge-belt  and  threw  belt  and  six-shooters  on 
the  ground. 

"I  don't  hanker  for  trouble  with  a  honibre  like 
you,"  he  grunted.  "I  guess  I  was  a  little  bit  hasty, 
anyhow." 

"I  call  you,"  the  policeman  said,  and  stripping 
the  saddle  and  bridle  from  his  sweaty  horse,  turned 
him  loose  to  graze. 

"Hello,  Mac!"  I  hailed,  as  he  walked  up  to  the 
fire.  He  turned  at  the  sound  of  my  voice  with 
vastly  more  concern  than  he'd  betrayed  under  the 
muzzle  of  Piegan's  gun. 

"Sarge  himself !"  he  exclaimed.  "Beats  the  devil 
how  old  trails  cross,  eh  ?" 

"It  sure  does,"  I  retorted,  and  our  hands  met. 


22  RAW  GOLD 


He  sat  down  beside  me  and  began  to  roll  a  ciga- 
rette. You  wouldn't  call  that  a  very  demonstra- 
tive greeting  between  two  old  amigos  who'd  bucked 
mesquite  and  hair-lifting  Comanches  together,  all 
over  the  Southwest.  It  had  been  many  a  moon 
since  we  took  different  roads,  but  MacRae  hadn't 
changed  that  I  could  see.  That  was  his  way — he 
never  slopped  over,  no  matter  how  he  felt.  If  ever 
a  mortal  had  a  firm  grip  on  his  emotions,  MacRae 
had,  and  yet  there  was  a  sleeping  devil  within  him 
that  was  never  hard  to  wake.  But  his  looks  gave 
no  hint  of  the  real  man  under  the  surface  placidity; 
you'd  never  have  guessed  what  possibilities  lay  be- 
hind that  immobile  face,  with  its  heavy-lashed  hazel 
eyes  and  plain,  thin-lipped  mouth  that  tilted  up  just 
a  bit  at  the  corners.  We  had  parted  in  the  Texas 
Panhandle  live  years  before — an  unexpected,  invol- 
untary separation  that  grew  out  of  a  poker  game 
with  a  tough  crowd.  The  tumultuous  events  of  that 
night  sent  me  North  in  undignified  haste,  for  I  am 
not  warlike  by  nature,  and  Texas  was  no  longer 
healthy  for  me  unless  I  cared  to  follow  up  a  bloody 


RAW  GOLD 23 

feud.  But  I'd  left  Mac  a  trail-boss  for  the  whitest 
man  in  the  South,  likewise  engaged  to  the  finest  girl 
in  any  man's  country ;  and  it's  a  far  cry  from  punch- 
ing cows  in  Texas  to  wearing  the  Queen's  colors 
and  keeping  peace  along  the  border-line.  I  knew, 
though,  that  he'd  tell  me  the  how  and  why  of  it  in 
his  own  good  time,  if  he  meant  that  I  should  know. 

One  or  two  of  the  buffalo-hunters  exchanged 
words  with  us  while  Mac  was  building  his  cigarette 
and  lighting  it.  Old  Piegan  stretched  himself  in 
the  grass,  and  in  a  few  moments  was  snoring  ener- 
getically, his  grizzled  face  bared  to  the  cloudless 
sky.  The  camp  grew  still,  except  for  the  rough 
and  ready  cook  pottering  about  the  fire,  boiling 
buffalo-meat  and  mixing  biscuit-dough.  The  fire 
crackled  around  the  Dutch  ovens,  and  the  odor  of 
coffee  came  floating  by.  Then  Mac  hunched  him- 
self against  a  wagon-wheel  and  began  to  talk. 

"I  suppose  it  looks  odd  to  you,  Sarge,  to  see  me 
in  this  rig?"  he  asked  whimsically.  "It  beats  punch- 
ing cows,  though — that  is,  when  a  fellow  discovers 
that  he  isn't  a  successful  cowpuncher." 


24  RAW  GOLD 


"Does  it?"  I  returned  dryly.  "You  were  making 
good  in  the  cow  business  last  time  I  saw  you.  What 
did  you  see  in  the  Mounted  Police  that  took  your 
fancy?" 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders  philosophically. 
"They're  making  history  in  this  neck  of  the  woods," 
he  said,  "and  I  joined  for  lack  of  something  better 
to  do.  You'll  find  us  a  cosmopolitan  lot,  and  not 
bad  specimens  as  men  go.  It's  a  tolerably  satisfy- 
ing life — once  you  get  out  of  the  ranks." 

"How  about  that?"  I  queried;  and  as  I  asked 
the  question  I  noticed  for  the  first  time  the  gilt 
bars  on  his  coat  sleeve.  "You've  got  past  the  buck 
trooper  stage,  then?  How  long  have  you  been  in 
the  force?" 

"Joined  the  year  they  took  over  the  Territory," 
he  replied.  "Yes,  I've  prospered  in  the  service.  Got 
to  be  a  sergeant;  I'm  in  charge  of  a  line-post  on 
Milk  River — Pend  d'  Oreille.  You'd  better  come 
on  over  and  stay  with  me  a  day  or  two,  Sarge." 
I  was  heading  in  that  direction,"  I  answered, 
only  I  expected  to  cross  the  river  farther  up.   "But, 


iC\ 


tl 


RAW  GOLD  25 


man,  I  never  thought  to  see  you  up  here.  I  thought 
you'd  settled  down  for  keeps;  supposed  you  were 
playing  major-domo  for  the  Double  R  down  on  the 
Canadian  River,  and  the  father  of  a  family  by  this 
time.  How  we  do  get  switched  around  in  this  old 
world." 

"Don't  we,  though,"  he  said  reflectively.  "It's  a 
great  game.  You  never  know  when  nor  where 
your  trail  is  liable  to  fork  and  lead  you  to  new 
countries  and  new  faces,  or  maybe  plumb  over  the 
big  divide.  Oh,  well,  it'll  be  all  the  same  a  hundred 
years  from  now,  as  Bill  Frayne  used  to  say." 

"You've  turned  cynic,"  I  told  him,  and  he  smiled. 

"No,"  he  declared,  "I  rather  think  I'd  be  classed 
as  a  philosopher;  if  you  could  call  a  man  a  philoso- 
pher who  can  enjoy  hammering  over  this  bald  coun- 
try, chasing  up  whisky-runners  and  hazing  non- 
treaty  Indians  onto  reservations,  and  raising  hell 
generally  in  the  name  of  the  law.  Still,  I  don't 
take  life  as  seriously  as  I  used  to.  What's  the  use? 
We  eat  and  drink  and  sleep  and  work  and  fight 
because  it's  the  nature  of  us  two-legged  brutes ;  but 


2a  RAW  GOLD 


there's  no  use  getting  excited  about  it,  because 
things  never  turn  out  exactly  the  way  you  expect 
them  to,  anyhow." 

"If  that's  your  philosophy  of  life,"  I  bantered, 
"you  ought  to  make  a  rattling  good  policeman.  I 
can  see  where  a  calm,  dispassionate  front  would 
save  a  man  a  heap  of  trouble,  at  this  sort  of  thing." 

"Josh  all  you  like,"  MacRae  laughed,  "but  I  tell 
you  a  man  does  save  himself  a  heap  of  trouble  when 
he  doesn't  get  too  anxious  whether  things  come  out 
just  as  he  wants  them  to  or  not.  Six  or  seven  years 
ago  I  couldn't  have  done  this  sort  of  work.  I've 
changed,  I  reckon.  There  was  a  time  when  I'd  have 
felt  that  there  was  only  one  way  to  settle  a  row  like 
I  just  had.  And  the  chances  are  that  I  would  have 
wound  up  by  putting  that  old  boy's  light  out. 
Which  wouldn't  have  helped  matters  any  for  me, 
and  certainly  would  have  been  tough  on  old  Piegan 
Smith — who  happens  to  be  a  pretty  fair  sort;  only 
playing  the  opposite  side  of  the  game." 

As  if  the  low-spoken  sound  of  his  name  had 
reached  his  ears  and  electrified  him,  Piegan  sat  up 


RAW  GOLD  27 


very  suddenly,  and  at  the  same  instant  the  cook 
sounded  the  long  call.  So  we  broke  off  our  chat, 
and  getting  a  tin  plate  and  cup  and  a  set  of  eating- 
implements,  we  helped  ourselves  from  the  Dutch 
ovens  and  squatted  in  the  grass  to  eat. 

When  we'd  finished,  one  of  the  hunters  rounded 
up  the  horses  and  we  caught  our  nags  and  saddled 
them.  MacRae  was  going  back  to  his  post  that 
night,  and  I  also  was  in  haste  to  be  traveling — -that 
ten  thousand  dollars  of  another  man's  money  was 
a  responsibility  I  wanted  to  be  rid  of  without  the 
least  possible  delay.  Pend  d'  Oreille  was  twenty- 
five  or  thirty  miles  south  of  us — a  long  afternoon's 
ride,  but  MacRae  and  I  were  glad  of  each  other's 
company,  and  it  was  worth  while  straining  a  point 
to  have  even  one  night's  shelter  at  a  Police  camp 
in  that  semi-hostile  country.  There  were  no  road- 
agents  to  speak  of,  for  sums  of  money  large  enough 
to  tempt  gentry  of  that  ilk  seldom  passed  over  those 
isolated  trails;  but  here  and  there  stray  parties  of 
Stonies  and  Blackfeet,  young  bucks  in  war-paint 
and  brcech-clout,  hot  on  the  trail  of  their  first  medi- 


28  RAW  GOLD 


cine,  skulked  warily  among  the  coulee-scarred 
ridges,  keeping  in  touch  with  the  drifting  buffalo- 
herds  and  alert  for  a  chance  to  ambush  a  straggling 
white  man  and  lift  his  hair.  They  weren't  par- 
ticularly dangerous,  except  to  a  lone  man,  still  there 
was  always  the  chance  of  running  slap  into  them, 
in  which  case  they  usually  made  a  more  or  less 
vigorous  attempt  to  wipe  you  out.  A  red  coat,  how- 
ever, was  a  passport  to  safety ;  even  so  early  in  the 
game  the  copper-colored  brother  had  learned  that 
the  Mounted  Police  were  a  hard  combination — an 
enemy  who  never  turned  back  when  he  took  the 
war-trail. 

When  we  were  mounted  Mac  leaned  over  and 
muttered  an  admonitory  word  for  Piegan's  ear 
alone.  "Better  lay  low,  Smith,'*  he  said,  "and  let 
the  boot-leggers  go  it  on  their  own  hook  for  a  while. 
We  are  watching  for  you.  It's  only  a  matter  of 
time  till  somebody  takes  you  in,  because  your 
whisky  is  making  lots  of  nasty  work  for  us  these 
days,  and  we've  got  orders  from  the  big  chief  to 
nail  you  if  there's  a  show.     I'm  passing  up  this 


RAW  GOLD  29 


little  affair  to-day.  That  doesn't  count.  But  the 
next  time  you  cross  the  river  with  a  four-horse  load 
of  it  I'll  be  on  you  like  a  wolf.  If  I  don't,  some 
other  fellow  will.    Sahef    Think  it  over." 

Smith  bit  off  a  huge  chew  of  tobacco,  while  he 
digested  MacRae's  warning.  Then  he  looked  up 
with  a  smile  that  broadened  to  a  grin.  ''You're  all 
right,"  he  said  cheerfully.  "I  like  your  style.  If  I 
get  the  worst  uh  the  deal,  I  won't  holler.    So-long !" 


CHAPTER  III. 

BIRDS   OF    PREY. 

ONCE  clear  of  the  buffalo-hunters'  camp, 
MacRae  and  I  paired  off  and  speedily  began 
to  compare  notes,  where  we  had  been,  what 
we  had  done,  how  the  world  had  used  us  in  the  five 
years  since  we  had  seen  each  other  last.  And  al- 
though we  gabbled  freely  enough,  MacRae  avoided 
all  mention  of  the  persons  of  whom  I  most  wished 
to  hear.  I  didn't  press  him,  for  I  knew  that  some- 
thing out  of  the  common  must  have  happened,  else 
he  would  not  have  been  wearing  the  Queen's  scarlet, 
and  I  didn't  care  to  bring  up  a  subject  that  might 
prove  a  sore  one  with  him.  But  men  we  had  knov/n 
and  trails  we  had  followed  furnished  us  plenty  of 
grist  for  the  conversational  mill.  Our  talk  ranged 
from  the  Panhandle  to  the  Canada  line,  while  our 
horses  jogged  steadily  southward. 

Dark  came  down  on  the  four  of  us  as  we  topped 


RAW  GOLD  31 


Manyberries  Ridge,  and  seven  or  eight  miles  of 
rolling  prairie  still  lay  between  us  and  Pend  d* 
Oreille.  If  Mac  had  been  alone  he  would  have  made 
the  post  by  sundown,  for  the  Mounted  Police  rode 
picked  horses,  the  best  money  could  buy.  But  it 
was  a  long  jaunt  to  Benton,  and  the  rest  of  us  were 
inclined  to  an  easier  pace,  that  we  might  husband 
the  full  strength  of  our  grass-fed  mounts  for  any 
emergency  that  should  arise  on  the  way. 

With  the  coming  of  night  a  pall  of  clouds  blew 
out  of  the  west,  blanketing  the  stars  and  shutting 
off  their  hazy  light  completely,  and  when  the  sky 
was  banked  full  from  horizon  to  horizon,  the  dark 
enveloped  us  like  a  black  sea-mist.  Once  or  twice 
we  startled  a  little  bunch  of  buffalo,  and  listened 
to  the  thud  of  their  hoofs  as  they  fled  through  the 
sultry,  velvet  gloom ;  but  for  the  most  our  ride  was 
attended  by  no  sounds  save  the  night  song  of  frogs 
in  the  upland  sloughs  and  the  hollow  clank  of  steel 
bits  keeping  time  to  the  creak  of  saddle-leather. 

Halfway  down  the  long  slope  MacRae  and  I, 
riding  in  the  lead,  pulled  up  to  make  a  cigarette 


32  RAW  GOLD 


on  the  brink  of  a  straight-walled  coulee  that  we 
could  sense  but  not  see.  As  I  waited  for  Mac  to 
strike  a  match  my  eyes  roved  about,  seeking  to 
pierce  the  unnatural  blackness  that  wrapped  itself 
about  us,  and  while  my  gaze  was  for  an  instant 
fixed  on  the  night-enshrouded  canyon,  a  red  tongue 
of  flame  flashed  out  for  a  m.oment  in  the  inky 
shadow  below.  MacRae  saw  it  also,  and  held  the 
match  unstruck. 

"Must  be  somebody  camped  down  there,"  I  haz- 
arded. 

"A  camp-fire  would  hardly  flash  and  die  out  like 
that,  Sarge,"  he  answered  thoughtfully.  "At  least, 
not  an  ordinary  one.  There  are  some  folk  in  this 
country,  you  know,  who  manifest  a  very  retiring 
disposition  at  times.  That  looks  to  me  like  a  blind 
fire  or  a  signal.    Let*s  wait  a  minute." 

We  sat  there  on  our  horses,  grouped  close  to- 
gether, a  minute  that  lengthened  to  five ;  then  Mac- 
Rae broke  off  in  the  middle  of  a  sentence  as  the 
flare  leaped  up,  flickered  an  instant,  and  was  blotted 
out  again.    I  could  have  sworn  I  heard  a  cry,  and 


RAW  GOLD  33 


one  of  my  men  spoke  in  a  tone  that  assured  me  my 
imagination  had  not  been  playing  a  trick. 

"Hear  that?"  he  asked  eagerly.  "Somebody 
hollered  down  there." 

"I  don't  much  like  that,"  MacRae  said,  in  a  low 
tone.  "I  have  a  hunch  that  something  crooked  is 
going  on,  and  I  reckon  I'll  go  down  and  see  what 
that  fire  means.  You  fellows  better  go  a  little  far- 
ther and  wait  for  me." 

"Not  on  your  life,"  I  protested.  "You  might  run 
into  most  any  kind  of  formation.  We'll  go  in  a 
bunch,  if  we  go  at  all." 

"Might  be  Injuns,"  Bruce  Haggin  put  in.  "An', 
anyhow,  whatever  play  comes  up,  four  men's  a  heap 
better'n  one.  If  you're  bound  t'  mix  in,  why,  lead 
the  way.  I'm  kinda  curious  about  what's  down 
there  m'self." 

So  near  to  the  post  it  was  that  MacRae  almost 
knew  the  feel  of  the  ground  underfoot.  He  led  us 
a  hundred  yards  along  the  rim  of  the  bank  and 
stopped  again. 

'This  is  as  good  a  place  as  any,  "But  you'll  have 


<(' 


34  RAW  GOLD 


to  get  down  and  lead  your  horses,"   he  warned. 

*'It's  a  devil  of  a  scramble  from  here  to  the  bottom."  ! 

We  dismounted,  and  speedily  found  that  MacRae  ; 
hadn't  exaggerated  the  evil  qualities  of  that  descent. 

If  there  had  been  boulders  on  that  hillside  the  noise  \ 
of  our  coming  would  have  alarmed  a  deaf  man; 

but  the  soft  dirt  and  slippery  grass  gave  out  no  i 

sound,  though  we  slid  and  tumbled  and  dug  in  our  j 

heels  for  a  foothold  till  the  sweat  streamed  down  I 

our  cheeks.  I 

i 

At  the  bottom  we  mounted  again  and  followed  ; 

i 

MacRae  in  a  cautious  file  around  clumps  of  willow  ' 

and  rustling  quaking-asp  to  the  place  where  the  i 

i 

blaze  should  have  shown.     But   no   glint  of   fire  ] 

appeared  in  any  direction;  the  coulee-bottom  lay  "\ 

more  dark  and  silent,  if  that  were  possible,  than  the  ; 

i 

gloomy   hills   above.      Perplexed,    MacRae   halted,  | 

and  we  bunched  together,  whispering,  each  of  us  i 

straining  his  eyes  and  ears  to  catch  some  sight  or  > 

sound  of  life  in  that  black,   ghostly  quiet.     We 

might  have  concluded  that  our  senses  had   been  , 

playing  pranks  at  our  expense,  that  the  flame  we  ; 


RAW  GOLD  35 


had  seen  from  the  ridge  was  purely  an  imaginary 
thing,  but  for  the  rank,  unmistakable  odor  of 
burning  wood — a  smell  no  man  bred  in  a  land  of 
camp-fires  can  mistake.  We  were  near  it,  wherever 
it  was,  but  how  near  we  had  no  means  of  knowing. 

After  a  bit  of  waiting,  Mac  decided  that  the 
smoke  was  floating  from  a  certain  direction,  and 
we  began  to  edge  carefully  that  way.  Presently  we 
circled  a  clump  of  brush,  to  come  near  riding  right 
into  a  banked  fire,  barely  visible,  even  at  short 
range,  under  its  covering  of  earth.  A  dimly  out- 
lined bulk  lay  beside  it,  and  leaning  over  in  our 
saddles,  the  faint  glow  of  the  coals  revealed  a  man's 
body,  half  stripped  of  its  clothing,  and — oh,  well, 
such  things  are  so  utterly  devilish  you  wouldn't 
credit  it.  It's  bad  enough  to  kill,  even  when  it's' 
necessary;  but  I  never  could  understand  how  a. 
white  man  could  take  a  leaf  out  of  the  Indian's' 
torture-book. 

The  fire  had  been  heaped  over  with  earth — to 
screen  it  from  prying  eyes,  I  suppose,  while  the 
good  work  went  on.     We  got  off  our  horses  and 


36  RAW  GOLD 


stooped  over  the  man,  forgetting  for  the  moment 
that  danger  might  lurk  in  the  surrounding  thicket. 
Mac  swore  under  his  breath  when  he  bent  and 
peered  keenly  at  the  man's  face;  then  he  straight- 
ened up  and  kicked  a  part  of  the  clay  covering 
from  the  smoldering  embers.  As  the  bright  glow 
of  a  little  cascade  of  sparks  pierced  the  darkness,  a 
voice  in  our  rear  called  sharply:  "Hands  up!"  and 
we  swung  round  to  behold  two  masked  faces  re- 
garding us  from  behind  steadily  held  Winchesters. 
The  very  suddenness  of  the  hold-up  made  it  a 
complete  success.  Apart,  and  moving,  we  might 
have  scattered  in  the  brush  like  young  quail,  and  so 
have  been  able  to  give  the  gentlemen  a  hard  run 
for  the  money.  But  we  were  bunched  together, 
shocked  out  of  all  caution,  staring  at  the  pitiful 
figure  at  our  feet  when  MacRae  unmasked  the  fire, 
and  the  flare  of  it  surrounded  us  with  a  yellow 
nimbus  that  made  us  fair  marks  for  a  gun.  With 
that  dazzling  light  in  our  eyes  and  those  ugly- 
looking  customers  at  the  business  end  of  the  guns, 
it  would  have  been  out  and  out  suicide  to  reach  for 


RAW  GOLD  37 


a  six-shooter.  For  at  that  period  in  Northwestern 
history,  when  a  man  had  the  drop  on  you  under  such 
conditions,  there  was  absolutely  no  question  of  what 
would  happen  if  you  made  a  suspicious  move.  We 
were  fairly  caught,  and  there  was  nothing  to  do 
but  elevate  our  digits  and  paw  the  air  as  com- 
manded. 

It  took  one  of  those  Western  Turpins  about  a  min- 
ute to  relieve  us  of  our  artillery,  after  which  he 
silently  proceeded  to  lead  our  horses  out  of  sight. 
When  he  did  that  I  began  to  hope  the  horses  were 
all  they  wanted,  that  they  had  no  knowledge  of  the 
money  I  carried ;  but  my  hopes  died  an  early  death, 
for  he  was  back  in  a  moment,  and  the  man  behind 
the  gun  indicated  me  with  a  motion  of  the  Win- 
chester. 

"That  long,  stoop-shouldered  gazabo's  got  the 
stuff  on  him,"  he  growled. 

There  was  half  a  second  when  I  entertained  a 
wild  notion  of  getting  fractious.  A  fellow  hates 
to  make  a  bungle  of  the  first  decent  trust  he's  had 
in  a  long  time;  but  I  was  in  a  tight  place,  and  I 


38  RAW  GOLD 


couldn't  figure  where  I'd  delay  giving  up  beyond 
the  length  of  time  it  would  take  the  gentleman 
with  the  Winchester  to  drill  me.  Under  the  cir- 
cumstances it  didn't  take  long  to  decide  that  it  was 
a  heap  better  all  around  to  be  robbed  alive  than 
dead — they'd  get  the  money  anyway,  and  if  I  got 
myself  shot  up  to  no  purpose  that  would  spoil  all 
chance  of  getting  back  at  them  later. 

The  silent  partner  wasted  no  time  in  fruitless 
search  of  my  person.  He  seemed  to  know  right 
where  to  look,  which  was  another  feature  of  the 
play  that  I  didn't  sabe  at  the  time.  He  reached 
down  inside  my  shirt,  with  a  none  too  gentle  hand, 
and  relieved  me  of  the  belt  that  held  the  money. 
Then  the  pair  of  them  backed  up,  still  covering  us, 
and  faded  away  in  the  gloom. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

A   TALE   HALF   TOLD. 

WHEN  they  were  gone  we  let  our  hands 
down  to  their  natural  level  and  drew  a 
long  breath. 

"We  appear  to  have  got  considerably  the  worst 
of  this  transaction,"  I  observed.  "The  La  Pere 
outfit  is  shy  something  like  ten  thousand  dollars — 
we're  afoot,  minus  everything  but  cigarette  ma- 
terial. It's  a  wonder  they  didn't  take  that,  too.  A 
damn  good  stroke  of  business,  all  right,"  I  finished, 
feeling  mighty  sore  at  myself.  When  it  was  too 
late,  I  could  think  of  half  a  dozen  ways  we  might 
have  avoided  getting  held  up. 

*T  got  you  into  it,  too,"  MacRae  said  calmly. 
"But  don't  get  excited  and  run  on  the  rope  this  early 
in  the  game,  Sarge;  you'll  only  throw  yourself. 
Brace  up.  We've  been  in  worse  holes  before." 
Never  a  word  of  what  it  might  mean  to  him;  never 


40  RAW  GOLD 


even  hinted  that  the  high  moguls  at  Fort  Walsh 
were  more  than  likely  to  put  him  on  the  rack  for 
letting  any  such  lawless  work  be  carried  out  suc- 
cessfully, in  his  own  district.  A  Mounted  Police- 
man can  make  no  excuses  for  letting  a  tough  cus- 
tomer slip  through  his  fingers ;  the  only  way  he  can 
escape  censure  is  to  be  brought  in  feet  first. 

He  motioned  to  the  poor  devil  lying  by  the  fire. 

"Look  at  him,  Sarge,'*  he  went  on,  in  a  different 
tone.  "You  always  had  a  pretty  good  memory  for 
faces.  So  have  I,  for  that  matter,  but — go  ahead — 
look." 

I  bent  over  the  man,  looked  closely  at  the  still 
features,  dropped  on  one  knee  and  turned  his  face 
toward  the  firelight  to  make  sure.  I  recognized 
him  instantly,  and  I  knew  that  MacRae  had  no 
doubts  of  his  identity,  for  each  of  us  had  broken 
bread  and  slept  in  the  same  blankets  with  that  quiet 
figure. 

"It's  Rutter,"  I  whispered,  and  MacRae  nodded 
silently. 

"He's  done  for,  too — no,  by  God,  he  isn't!"  I 


RAW  GOLD  41 

cried,  and  shrank  involuntarily,  for  his  eyeballs 
rolled  till  only  the  whites  showed  in  a  way  that 
made  me  shudder.    "He's  not  dead,  yet,  Mac!" 

"One  of  you  fellows  get  some  water,"  Mac  com- 
manded. He  squatted  beside  me,  holding  up  Rut- 
ter's  head.  In  a  minute  Bruce  was  back  with  his 
hat  full  of  water  from  the  creek  that  whimpered 
just  beyond  the  willow  patch.  I  peeled  off  my  coat 
and  spread  it  over  the  marred  limbs,  and  Bruce  held 
the  water  so  that  I  could  dip  in  my  hand  and 
sprinkle  Rutter's  face.  After  a  little  his  mouth  be- 
gan to  twitch.  Queer  gurgling  sounds  issued  from 
his  throat.  He  moved  his  head  slightly,  looking 
from  me  to  MacRae.  Presently  he  recognized  us 
both ;  his  face  brightened. 

"Gimme  a  drink,"  he  whispered  huskily. 

Mac  propped  him  up  so  that  he  could  sip  from 
the  hat.  He  came  near  going  off  again,  but  rallied, 
and  In  a  second  or  two  his  lips  framed  a  question : 

"Did  yuh— get  'em?" 

I  shook  my  head.  "You  might  say  that  they  got 
us,"  I  answered. 


42  RAW  GOLD 


"Who  were  they,  Hans?'*  MacRae  questioned 
eagerly.  "And  why  did  they  do  this  to  you  ?  We'll 
make  them  sweat  blood  for  this  night's  work.  Did 
you  know  them?    Tell  us  if  you  can." 

"No,"  Rutter  spoke  with  a  great  effort.  Each 
sentence  came  as  if  torn  piecemeal  from  his  un- 
wilhng  tongue;  short,  jerky  phrases,  conceived  in 
pain  and  delivered  in  agony.  "We — me'n  Hank 
Rowan — comin'  from  the  North — made  a  stake  on 
the  Peace.  They  started  it — at  the  Stone — yuh 
know — Writin'-Stone.  Hank  an'  me — you'll  find 
Hank  in  the  cottonwoods — Stony  Crossin'.  I  tried 
— tried  t'  make  Walsh.  Two  of  'em — masked — 
tried  t'  make  me  tell — tell  'em — where  we  made  the 
cache.  I'm — I'm  done — I  guess.  The  dust,  it's — 
it's — a-a-ah '' 

The  gnarled  hands  shut  up  into  clenched  fists, 
and  the  feeble  voice  trailed  off  in  an  agonized 
moan. 

I  laved  his  pain-twisted  face  with  the  cool  water 
and  let  a  few  drops  trickle  into  his  open  mouth. 
He  gasped  a  few  times,  then,  gathering  strength 


RAW  GOLD  43 


again,  went  on  with  that  horrible  spasmodic  reci- 
tation. 

"They  were  after  us — a  long  time.  Lyn's  at 
Walsh.  There's  a — a  good  stake.  Get  it — for  her. 
It's  cached — under  the  Stone — yuh  know — ^Writin'- 
Stone.  Three  sacks.  That's  what — they  wanted. 
You'll — you'll — on  the  rock  above — marked — gold 
• — raw  gold — that's  it — ^gold — raw  gold — Mac — I 
want — I  want " 

That  was  all.  The  tense  muscles  relaxed.  His 
head  fell  back  limp  on  MacRae's  arm,  and  the  rest 
of  the  message  went  with  the  game  old  Dutchman 
across  the  big  divide.  We  laid  him  down  gently, 
folded  his  arms  on  his  breast,  and  for  a  moment 
held  our  peace  in  tribute  to  his  passing. 

MacRae  was  first  to  speak. 

"There's  a  lot  back  of  this  that  I  can't  under- 
stand," he  said,  more  to  himself  than  to  the  rest  of 
us.  "It  beats  me  why  these  two  old  cowmen  should 
be  here  in  this  country,  tangled  up  with  buried  gold- 
dust,  and  being  hunted  like  beasts  for  its  possession. 
Old  Hans  was  certainly  in  his  right  mind  or  he 


44  RAW  GOLD 


wouldn't  have  known  us;  and  if  he  told  us  right, 
Hank  Rowan  has  been  murdered  too.  If  Lyn  is  at 
Walsh,  she  may  be  able  to  shed  some  light  on  this. 
But  I'll  swear  I  feel  like  a  man  groping  in  a  dark 
room." 

"If  Lyn  is  at  Walsh,"  I  asserted  stoutly,  "she  got 
there  since  I  left  this  morning.  I  was  there  two 
days,  and  I  wasn't  in  the  background  by  any  means ; 
and  she's  the  sort  of  girl  that  isn't  backward  about 
hailing  a  friend.  We  know  one  thing — the  men 
that  killed  Rutter  are  the  ones  that  held  us  up,  and 
got  off  with  that  money  of  mine.  And  say — how 
did  those  fellows  know  I  had  that  money  and  where 
I  was  carrying  it?  Good  Lord!  it  sounds  like  the 
plot  of  a  dime  novel." 

It  was  a  stubborn  riddle  for  us  to  try  and  read. 
And  our  surroundings  at  that  particular  moment 
were  not  the  most  favorable  to  coherent  thought  or 
plausible  theory-building.  When  a  man  has  been 
robbed  at  the  point  of  a  gun,  and  set  afoot  in  the 
heart  of  an  unpeopled  waste,  with  a  dead  man  and 
a  dying  fire  for  company,  his  nerves  are  apt  to  get  a 


RAW  GOLD  45 


little  bit  on  edge.  Things  that  wouldn't  tax  your 
fortitude  in  daylight  look  like  the  works  of  the  devil 
when  you  have  to  face  them  in  the  black  hours  of 
the  night.  None  of  us  are  so  far  removed  from 
savagery  that  a  few  grains  of  superstition  don't  lurk 
in  our  souls,  all  ready  to  bob  up  if  the  setting  is 
appropriate.  If  it  should  ever  be  my  lot  to  take  the 
Long  Trail  at  short  notice,  I  hope  it  will  be  under 
a  blue  sky  and  a  blazing  sun.  It  was  hard  to  be 
philosophic,  or  even  decently  calm,  standing  there 
in  the  sickly  glow  of  the  fading  coals  with  old  Hans 
mutely  reminding  us  that  life  is  a  tenuous  thread, 
easily  snipped. 

A  little  night  breeze  rustling  the  willows  about 
us  brought  into  my  mind  the  fact  that  our  masked 
acquaintances  could  easily  sneak  up  and  pot  us  if, 
as  an  afterthought,  they  decided  to  do  a  really 
workmanlike  job.  Doubt  it  ?  Wasn't  the  dead  man 
stretched  in  the  shadow  convincing  proof  of  their 
capacity  for  pure  devilishness  ?  Read  the  history  of 
those  days  along  the  line,  and  you'll  turn  some  red 
pages.     There  were  no  half-way  measures  in  the 


46  RAW  GOLD 


code  of  an  outlaw  then;  the  pair  who  held  us  up 
would  have  taken  our  lives  as  nonchalantly  as  they 
relieved  us  of  our  material  possessions  had  we 
proved  in  the  least  degree  troublesome. 

I  hinted  what  was  in  my  mind  to  MacRae,  and 
when  he  agreed  that  it  was  a  possible  contingency, 
we  filed  out  of  the  treacherous  light  and  squatted  in 
the  edge  of  a  quaking-asp  grove  where  we  couldn't 
be  seen,  and  where  a  coyote,  much  less  a  man, 
couldn't  steal  up  on  us  without  the  crackle  of  dry 
brush  betraying  him. 

"What  do  you  think  you'll  do,  Sarge?"  Mac 
whispered  to  me,  while  we  sat  there  undecided  as  to 
our  next  move.  "Go  on  to  Benton,  or  stay  here 
on  the  chance  of  breaking  even?" 

"I've  got  to  stick;  it's  the  only  thing  I  can  do," 
I  growled  back.  "I've  been  sure  enough  whip- 
sawed  this  deal,  but  I'm  still  in  the  game,  and  when 
it  comes  to  calling  the  last  turn  I'll  be  there  with  a 
stack  of  blues.  How  in  hell  can  I  show  my  face 
in  Benton  while  some  other  fellow  is  packing  the 
money  La  Pere  trusted  me  to  bring  back?    If  I  can 


RAW  GOLD  47 


rustle  horses  I'll  send  these  two  boys  on  home,  with 
a  note  to  the  old  man  explaining  how  the  play  came 
np.  If  those  jaspers  flash  any  part  of  the  roll  in 
the  Territory  before  snowfall,  I'll  get  them.  I've 
got  to  get  them,  to  square  myself.'* 

"That  would  be  my  idea,  if  I  were  in  your  place," 
he  answered.  "If  they're  like  the  average  run  of 
men  that  turn  a  trick  of  that  kind,  they'll  give  them- 
selves away  in  the  long  run.  It's  lucky,  in  a  way, 
that  you  had  paper  money  instead  of  gold;  the  big 
bills  will  be  their  downfall  if  they  undertake  to 
spend  them  in  this  country — and  if  old  Hans  had  it 
straight,  they're  not  going  to  pull  out  with  a  measly 
ten  thousand  dollars.  It's  an  ugly  mess,  and  liable 
to  be  worse  before  it's  cleaned  up.  If  there  is  a 
stake  like  that  cached  around  the  Stone,  these  land 
pirates  will  camp  mighty  close  on  the  trail  of  any- 
body that  goes  looking  for  it.  And  it  won't  be  any 
Sunday-school  picnic  dealing  with  them — they 
showed  a  strong  hand  there,"  he  motioned  to  the 
place  where  Rutter  lay. 

The  best  thing  we  can  do,"  he  continued,  "is  to 


d' 


48  RAW  GOLD 


drag  it  for  Pend  d'  Oreille,  afoot.  We  have  two 
extra  horses  there.  We  can  get  a  little  sleep  and 
move  early  in  the  morning.  I'll  have  to  report  this 
thing  in  person  at  Walsh,  but  before  I  do  I  want  to 
know  if  Hank  Rowan  was  really  killed  at  Stony 
Crossing.  If  we  find  him  there  as  Rutter.said,  you 
can  gamble  that  trouble  has  camped  in  our  door- 
yard  for  a  lengthy  sta3\  And  it  might  be  a  good 
idea  for  you  to  give  your  men  a  gentle  hint  to  keep 
their  mouths  closed  about  this  affair — all  of  it. 
There's  a  slim  chance  at  the  best  of  finding  that 
gold,  even  if  it's  there,  and  it  won't  help  us  nor  the 
rest  of  the  Force  to  run  down  the  men  who  held  us 
up,  if  everybody  on  both  sides  of  the  line  gets  to 
talking  about  it." 

"I'll  tell  them,"  I  agreed.  "I  reckon  you  have  the 
right  idea.  I  think  it's  a. cinch  that  if  we  land  the 
men  that  set  us  afoot  and  got  away  with  the  money, 
we'll  have  the  cold-blooded  brutes  that  put  Hans 
Rutter's  light  out.  But  I  don't  sabe,  Mac,  why  those 
old-timers  should  be  mixed  into  a  deal  of  this  kind. 
Their  cattle  and  range  on  the  Canadian  had  a  gold- 


RAW  GOLD  49 


mine  beat  to  death  for  money-making;  old  men  like 
them  don't  jump  two  thousand  miles  from  home 
without  mighty  strong  reasons." 

"They  probably  had,  if  we  only  knew,"  MacRae 
muttered.  "I  reckon  we'd  better  start;  we  can't  do 
any  good  here." 

Mac  led  the  way.  The  four  of  us  slipped  through 
the  brushy  bottom  as  silently  as  men  unaccustomed 
to  walking  might  go,  for  we  had  no  hankering,  un- 
armed as  we  were,  to  bring  those  red-handed  ma- 
rauders after  us  again,  if  they  happened  to  be  lurk- 
ing in  that  canyon.  Rutter's  body  we  had  no  choice 
but  to  leave  undisturbed  by  the  blackening  fire.  In 
the  morning  we  would  come  back  and  bury  him, 
but  for  that  night— well,  he  was  beyond  any  man's 
power  to  aid  or  injure,  lying  there  alone  in  the  dark. 


CHAPTER  V. 

MOUNTED  AGAINc 

'E  stumbled  along,  close  up,  for  the  thick- 
piled  clouds  still  hung  their  light-obscur- 
ing banners  over  the  sky.  Three  yards 
apart  we  became  invisible  to  each  other.  I  followed 
behind  MacRae  more  or  less  mechanically,  though 
I  was,  in  a  way,  acutely  conscious  of  the  necessity 
for  stealthy  going,  one  part  of  my  mind  busy  turn- 
ing over  the  quick  march  of  events  and  guessing 
haphazard  at  the  future. 

Striding  along  in  this  mental  semi-detachment 
from  the  business  in  hand,  some  three  hundred 
yards  down  the  coulee  I  tripped  over  a  fallen  cotton- 
wood  and  drove  the  point  of  a  projecting  limb  clean 
through  the  upper  of  my  boot  and  into  the  calf  of 
my  leg — not  a  disabling  wound,  but  one  that  lacked 
nothing  in  the  way  of  pain.  The  others  stopped 
while  I  pulled  out  the  snag,  which  had  broken  off 


RAW  GOLD  5f 


the  trunk,  and  while  I  was  about  this  a  familiar 
clattering  noise  uprose  near-by.  Ever  hear  a  horse 
shake  himself,  like  a  water-spaniel  fresh  from  a  dip, 
when  he  has  been  tied  for  a  long  time  in  one  place 
with  the  dead  weight  of  a  heavy  stock  saddle  on  his 
back?  There  is  a  little  by-play  of  grunting  and 
clearing  of  nostrils,  then  the  slap  of  skirts  and 
strings  and  stirrup-leathers — a  man  never  forgets 
or  mistakes  the  sound  of  it,  if  he  has  ever  slept  in 
a  round-up  camp  with  a  dozen  restless  night-horses 
saddled  and  tied  to  a  wagon  twenty  feet  from  his 
bed.  But  it  made  us  jump,  welling  up  out  of  the 
dark  so  unexpectedly  and  so  near. 

"Saddle-horse — tied,"  Mac  tersely  commented. 
iWe  squatted  in  the  long  grass  and  buck-brush,  lis- 
tening, and  a  few  seconds  later  heard  a  horse  snort 
distinctly.  This  sound  was  immediately  followed 
by  the  steady  beat  of  an  impatient  forefoot. 

"Over  yonder,"  I  said.  "And  there's  more  than 
one,  I  think.  Let's  investigate  this.  And  we'd 
better  not  separate." 

Fifty  yards  to  the  left  we  struck  a  cottonwood 


52  RAW  GOLD 


grove,  and  in  the  outer  edge  of  it  loomed  the  vague 
outhne  of  a  horse — when  we  were  almost  within 
reaching-distance  of  him.  I  ran  my  hand  over  the 
saddle  and  knew  it  instantly  for  Bruce  Haggin's  rig. 
A  half-minute  of  quiet  prowling  revealed  our  full 
quota  of  livestock,  even  to  the  pack-horse  that  bore 
our  beds  and  grub,  each  one  tied  hard  and  fast  to  a 
tree.  Also  our  six-shooters  reposed  in  their  scab- 
bards, the  four  belts  hooked  over  the  horn  of  Mac- 
Rae's  saddle. 

Maybe  it  didn't  feel  good  to  be  on  the  hurricane 
deck  of  a  good  horse  once  more!  Whenever  I  have 
to  walk  any  distance,  I  can  always  understand  why 
a  horse-thief  yields  to  temptation  and  finally  be- 
comes confirmed  in  his  habit.  It  was  rather  an  odd 
thing  for  those  outlaws  to  leave  everything,  even 
to  our  guns,  but  I  figured — and  time  proved  the 
correctness  of  my  arithmetic — that  they  had  bigger 
iish  to  fry. 

Once  in  the  saddle,  witH  the  comfortable  weight 
of  a  cartridge-belt  around  each  man's  middle,  we 
experienced  a  revulsion  of   feeling.     Primed   for 


RAW  GOLD  53 

I  ■  , 

trouble  if  we  could  jump  it  out  of  the  brush,  we 
rode  the  bottom  for  half  an  hour.  But  our  men 
were  gone.  At  least,  we  could  not  locate  them.  So 
we  took  to  the  upland  again  and  loped  toward  Pend 
d'  Oreille. 

'^I've  been  thinking  it  isn't  so  strange — those  old 
fellows  being  in  this  country — after  all,"  Mac 
suddenly  began,  as  we  slowed  our  horses  down  to 
take  a  hiil.  "I  didn't  remember  at  first,  but  two 
years  ago,  just  after  I  joined  the  Force,  I  ran  across 
a  bullwhacker  on  the  Whoop  Up  trail,  and  he  told 
me  that  the  Double  R  had  closed  out.  He  said 
Hank  had  got  into  a  ruction  with  Dick  Feltz — you 
recollect  there  was  considerable  feeling  between 
them  in  our  time  down  there — and  killed  him  one 
day  at  Fort  Worth.  Feltz  had  some  folks  that  took 
it  up,  and  Hank  had  to  spend  a  barrel  of  money  to 
come  clear.  That,  and  a  range  war  that  grew  out 
of  the  killing,  and  some  kind  of  a  business  deal  just 
about  broke  them.  That's  the  way  this  fellow  had 
it ;  said  a  trail-boss  told  him  at  Ogalalla  that  spring. 
I  didn't  take  much  stock  in  the  yarn  at  the  time. 


54  RAW  GOLD 


but  I'm  beginning  to  think  he  had  it  straight.  You 
didn't  hear  anything  about  it?'* 

"Not  a  word;  it's  news  to  me,"  I  said.  "When 
I  left  that  country  I  kept  moving  north  all  the  time. 
The  last  three  years  I've  been  in  the  Judith  Basin, 
and  southern  outfits  haven't  begun  to  come  in  there 
yet.  So  I  haven't  had  much  chance  to  hear  from 
that  part  of  the  world.  But  I'm  framing  up  my 
think-works  so  I  won't  be  surprised  at  anything  I 
see  or  hear  after  to-night.  How  long  since  you  left 
that  country,  Mac?" 

"Next  spring  after  you  did,"  he  answered.  "If 
they  did  go  broke,  I  can  sabe  their  being  here. 
Rutter  said,  you  know,  that  they'd  made  a  stake  on 
the  Peace — Peace  River,  I  suppose  he  meant. 
There's  been  a  lot  of  placer  mining  in  that  north 
country  the  last  three  or  four  years.  They  might 
have  been  up  there  and  struck  it  good  and  plenty. 
They  made  their  start  in  the  cow  business  off  a; 
placer  in  California,  you  know." 

I  knew  that,  for  Rowan  often  spoke  of  it.  And 
granting  that  we  had  surmised  rightly,  it  required 


RAW  GOLD  55 


no  vivid  imagination  to  picture  what  might  happen 
to  men  crossing  those  wide  prairies  with  a  fortune 
in  yellow  dust.  But  my  imagination  was  hardly 
equal  to  the  task  of  reconciling  the  fact  that  the 
evil  pair  had  been  busy  at  other  deviltry  and  yet 
knew  I  carried  a  large  sum  of  money  and  where  it 
was  concealed  about  my  person.  That  brought  me 
back  to  something  else  Rutter  had  told  us;  some- 
thing that  I  knew — or  thought  I  knew — touched 
MacRae  very  closely. 

"Hans  said  Lyn  was  at  Walsh,"  I  remarked.  "I 
don't  think  she  was  there,  this  morning.  But  she 
might  be  due  to  arrive  there.  Hang  it  all,  Mac, 
what  the  dickens  chased  you  away  from  the  Cana- 
dian?" 

"Looking  back,  I  can't  just  say  what  it  was," 
he  presently  replied,  in  a  hard,  matter-of-fact  tone. 
"You  see,  one's  feelings  can  change,  Sarge.  It 
looks  different  to  me  now  than  it  did  then.  I  reckon 
I  could  have  written  essays  on  the  futility  of  senti- 
ment, and  the  damned  silliness  of  a  man  who  thinks 
he  cares  for  a  woman.     But  I'm  past  that  stage. 


56  RAW  GOLD 


And  so  I  can't  say  for  sure  just  how  it  was  or  why. 
Something  came  up  between  me  and  Lyn — and  I 
drifted,  and  kept  drifting.  Went  through  Colorado, 
Wyoming,  Montana ;  finally  rambled  here,  and  went 
into  the  Force  because — well,  because  a  man  with 
anything  to  him  can  go  to  the  top.  A  man  must 
play  at  something,  and  this  looked  like  a  good 
game." 

There  was  a  note  of  something  that  I'd  never 
heard  in  MacRae's  voice  before;  neither  bitterness 
nor  anger  nor  sorrow  nor  lonesomeness,  and  yet 
there  was  a  hint  of  each,  but  so  slight,  so  elusive  I 
couldn't  grasp  it.  I  remembered  that  the  last  sen- 
tence MacRae  had  spoken  to  me  in  the  South  was  a 
message  to  Lyn  Rowan,  a  message  that  I  never  had 
the  pleasure  of  delivering,  for  my  hasty  flitting  took 
me  out  other  trails  than  the  one  that  led  to  the  home 
ranch.  And  so  they  had  parted — gone  different 
ways — probably  in  anger.  Well,  that's  only  another 
example  of  the  average  human's  cussedness.  Lyn 
could  be  just  as  haughty  as  she  was  sweet  and 
gracious,  which  was  natural  enough,  seeing  she'd 


RAW  GOLD  57 


ruled  a  cattle  king  and  all  his  sunburned  riders 
since  she  was  big  enough  to  toddle  alone;  and  Gor- 
don MacRae  wasn't  the  sort  of  man  who  would 
come  to  heel  at  any  woman's  bidding — at  least,  he 
wasn't  in  the  old  days.  Oh,  I  could  understand 
how  it  happened,  all  right.  Each  of  them  was  chuck 
full  of  that  dubious  sort  of  pride  that  has  busted 
up  more  than  one  love-fiesta. 

Neither  of  us  spoke  again,  and  at  length  the  squat 
log  buildings  of  Pend  d'  Oreille  loomed  ahead  of  us 
in  the  night.  Tired  and  hungry,  we  stabled  our 
horses,  ate  a  bite,  and  rolled  into  bed. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

STONY    CROSSING. 

^  ^r-Tpi  HERE'S  Stony  Crossing,  Sarge;  and  over 
J[  yonder,  at  the  west  end  of  that  blue 
ridge,  is  Writing-on-the-Stone." 

At  the  foot  of  the  long  slope  on  which  we  stood 
Milk  River  glinted  in  the  sunshine,  deceptively, 
beautiful — a  shining  example  of  the  truth  of  that 
old  saw  about  distance  lending  enchantment,  for, 
looking  down  on  the  placid  stream  slipping  smoothly 
along  between  fringes  of  scrubby  timber,  one  would 
never  guess  that  miles  and  miles  of  hungry  quick- 
sands lined  the  river-edge,  an  unseen  trap  for  the 
feet  of  the  unwary. 

Stony  Crossing  I  could  see,  even  without  Mac's 
guiding  finger.  The  Whoop  Up  trail,  a  brown 
streak  against  the  vivid  upland  green,  dipped  down 
the  hillside  to  our  right,  down  to  the  sage-grown 
Bat,  and  into  the  river  by  the  great  boulders  that 


RAW  GOLD  59' 


gave  the  ford  its  name.    The  blue  ridge  up  the  river 
I  gave  scant  heed  to;  the  Writing-Stone  was  only  ! 

a  name  Jo  me,  for  I'd  never  seen  the  place.     My  .1 

attention  was  all  for  the  scene  at  hand.    The  patch  \ 

of  soft  green  that  I  knew  for  the  cottonwoods  Rut-  ' 

ter  had  spoken  of  drew  my  roving  gaze  whether  I  j 

would  or  no.    I  have  ridden  on  pleasanter  missions  1 

than  the  one  that  took  us  to  Stony  Crossing  that 
day.  ! 

"It's  sure  tough,"  I  voiced  a  thought  that  had  ' 

been  running  in  my  mind  all  morning,  "to  think 
that  a  good  old  fellow  like  Hank  Rowan  has  been  ! 

murdered  and  left  to  rot  on  the  prairie  like  a  skinned  I 

buffalo.     Hanged  if  I  can  make  myself  really  be-  I 

lieve  we'll  find  him  down  there."  \ 

"The  more  I  think  of  it,  the  more  Fm  inclined  to 
believe  that  we  will,"  MacRae  answered  evenly. 
"We'll  know  beyond  a  doubt  in  the  next  hour.  So 
:we  might  as  well  go  on." 

If  I  hadn't  known  him  so  well  I  might  have  j 

thought  he  didn't  care  a  damn  what  we  found  at  ■ 

i 

Stony  Crossing,  that  he  was  as  unmoved  as  the  two  | 


60  RAW  GOLD 


case-hardened  troopers  who  rode  with  us.  But 
that  repression  was  just  as  natural  to  him  as  emo- 
tional flare-ups  are  to  some.  Whatever  he  felt  he 
usually  kept  bottled  up  inside,  no  matter  how  it 
hurt.  I  never  saw  him  fly  to  pieces  over  anything. 
He  was  something  of  an  anomaly  to  me,  when  I 
first  knew  him.  I  was  always  so  prone  to  do  and 
say  things  according  to  impulse  that  I  thought  him 
cold-blooded,  a  man  without  any  particular  feeling 
except  a  certain  pride  in  holding  his  own  among 
his  fellows. 

But  I  revised  my  opinion  when  I  came  to  know 
him  better.  Under  the  surface  he  was  sensitive  as 
a  girl ;  one  could  wound  him  with  a  word  or  a  look. 
Paradoxically,  he  was  absolutely  cold-blooded  to- 
ward a  declared  enemy.  He  would  fight  fair,  but 
without  mercy.  Side  by  side  with  the  sensitive  soul 
of  him,  and  hidden  always  under  an  impassive  mask 
of  self-control,  lay  the  battling  spirit,  an  indomitable 
fighting  streak ;  it  cropped  out  in  a  cool,  calculating 
manner  of  taking  desperate  chances  when  the  sleep- 
ing devil  in  him  was  roused.     He  would  side-step 


RAW  GOLD  61 


trouble — and  one  met  the  weeping  damsel  at  many- 
turns  of  the  road  in  those  raw  days — if  he  could  do 
it  without  loss  of  self-respect;  but  the  man  who 
stirred  him  up  needlessly,  or  crowded  him  into  re- 
taliation, always  regretted  it — when  he  had  time  to 
indulge  in  vain  regrets.  And  you  can  bet  your 
last,  lone  peso,  and  consider  it  won,  that  MacRae 
meant  every  word  when  he  said  to  old  Hans  Rutter : 
"We'll  make  them  sweat  blood  for  this." 

When  we  got  down  into  the  bottom  Mac  turned 
aside  to  the  deep-worn  trail  and  glanced  sharply- 
down  at  the  ruts.  The  dust  in  them  lay  smooth, 
and  the  hoof -marks  that  showed  were  old  and  dim. 

"I  wondered  if  there  had  been  any  freight  teams 
pass  lately,"  he  explained.  "But  there  hasn't — not 
for  a  day  or  two,  anyway.  Let's  look  in  the  tim- 
ber." 

That  was  a  long  time  ago,  and  since  then  I  have 
seen  much  of  life  and  death  in  many  countries,  but 
I  can  recall  as  distinctly  as  if  it  were  yesterday  the 
grim  sight  that  met  us  when  we  rode  in  among  the 
whispering  cottonwoods.    We  found  Hank  Rowan 


62  RAW  GOLD 


in  a  little  open  place,  where  rifts  of  sunlight  filtered 
through  the  tangled  branches;  one  yellow  bar,  full 
of  quivering  motes,  rested  on  the  wide-open  eyes  and 
mouth,  tinting  the  set  features  the  ghastly  color  of 
a  plaster  cast.  The  horse  he  had  ridden  lay  dead 
across  his  legs,  and  just  beyond,  a  crumpled  heap 
against  the  base  of  a  tree,  was  the  carcass  of  a  mule, 
half-hidden  under  a  bulky  pack.  The  thing  that 
sickened  me,  that  stirs  me  even  yet,  was  a  circular, 
red  patch  that  crowned  his  head  where  should  have 
been  thick,  iron-gray  hair. 

"The  damned  hounds!"  MacRae  muttered. 
"They  tried  to  make  it  look  like  an  Indian  job." 

The  pack-ropes  had  been  cut  and  the  pack 
searched.  In  the  same  manner  they  had  gone 
through  his  pockets  and  scattered  a  few  papers  and 
letters  on  the  ground.  These  we  gathered  carefully 
together,  against  the  time  of  meeting  Lyn,  and  then 
• — for  time  pressed,  and  a  dead  man,  though  he  may 
be  your  friend  and  his  passing  a  sorrow,  is  out  of 
the  game  forever — we  dragged  him  from  beneath 
the  dead  horse,  wrapped  him  in  the  canvas  pack- 


RAW  GOLD  63 


cover,  and  buried  him  in  the  soft  leaf -mold  where 
he  lay,  as  we  had  buried  his  lifetime  partner  early 
in  the  morning.  When  we  had  finished,  MacRae 
ordered  his  two  troopers  back  to  Pend  d'  Oreille, 
and  we  mounted  our  horses  and  turned  their  heads 
toward  Fort  Walsh. 

It  is  seventy  miles  in  an  air-line  from  Stony 
Crossing  to  the  fort.  That  night  we  laid  out,  sleep- 
ing without  hardship  in  a  dry  buffalo-wallow,  and 
noon  of  the  next  day  brought  us  to  Walsh,  a  huddle 
of  log  buildings  clustering  around  a  tall  pole  from 
which  fluttered  the  union  jack. 

Off  to  one  side  of  the  fort  a  bunch  of  work-bulls 
fed  peacefully.  Down  in  the  creek  bottom  a  tent 
or  two  flapped  in  the  mid-day  breeze,  and  in  their 
neighborhood  uprose  the  smoke  of  half  a  dozen 
dinner  fires.  By  the  post  storeroom,  waiting  their 
turn  to  unload,  was  ranged  a  line  of  the  tarpaulin- 
covered  wagons,  wheeled  galleons  of  the  plains,  that 
brought  food  and  raiment  to  the  Northwest  before 
the  coming  of  steam  and  steel. 

"That  looks  to  me  like  Baker's  outfit,  from  Ben- 


64  RAW  GOLD 


ton,"  I  said  to  MacRae,  as  we  swung  off  our  horses 
before  the  building  in  which  the  officer  of  the  day 
held  forth.  "They  must  have  come  by  way  of  Assi- 
niboine." 

"Probably,"  Mac  answered.  "And  over  yonder^s 
the  paymaster's  train.  At  least,  he's  due,  and  I 
can't  account  for  a  bunch  of  horses  in  charge  of  a 
buck  trooper  any  other  way." 

We  clanked  into  the  ante-room — that's  what  I 
call  it,  anyway.  It  happened  that  I  didn't  stay 
around  those  police  posts  long  enough  to  get  fa- 
miliar with  the  technical  terms  for  everything.  Not 
that  they  wouldn't  have  welcomed  my  presence; 
faith,  their  desire  for  my  company  was  only  equaled 
by  my  reluctance  to  accept  their  hospitality.  There 
was  a  while  when  I  developed  a  marvelous  capacity 
for  dodging  invitations  to  Fort  Walsh.  And  if  the 
men  in  scarlet  had  been  a  bit  swifter,  or  I  a  little 
slower,  I'd  have  had  ample  leisure  to  observe  life 
in  the  Force  from  the  inside — of  the  guardhouse. 
As  I  said,  we  went  inro  the  ante-room,  and  there  I 
got  my  first  peep  at  the  divinity  that  doth  hedge— 


RAW  GOLD  65 


not  a  king,  but  a  commissioned  officer  in  Her  Ma- 
jesty's N.  W.  M.  P.  An  orderly  held  us  up,  and 
when  MacRae  had  convinced  him  that  our  business 
was  urgent,  and  not  for  his  ears,  he  graciously  al- 
lowed us  to  enter  the  Presence — who  proved  to  be  a 
heavy-set  person  with  sandy,  mutton-chop  whiskers 
set  bias  on  a  vacuous,  round,  florid  countenance. 
His  braid-trimmed  uniform  was  cut  to  fit  him  like 
the  skin  of  an  exceedingly  well-stuffed  sausage,  and 
from  his  comfortable  seat  behind  a  flat-topped  desk 
he  gazed  upon  us  with  the  wisdom  of  a  tree-full  of 
owls  and  the  dignity  of  a  stage  emperor. 

MacRae's  heels  clicked  together  and  his  right 
hand  went  up  in  the  stiff  military  salute.  The  red- 
faced  one  acknowledged  it  by  a  barely  perceptible 
flip  of  a  fat  paw,  then  put  a  little  extra  stiffening 
into  his  spinal  column  and  growled,  in  a  voice  that 
seemed  to  come  booming  up  from  the  region  of  his 
diaphragm,  "Pro-ceed." 

MacRae  proceeded.  But  he  didn't  get  very  far. 
In  fact,  he'd  barely  articulated,  *I  have  to  report, 
sir,  that — •■ — '  when  the  human  sausage  bethought 


66  RAW  GOLD 


himself  of  something  more  important,  and  held  up 
one  hand  for  silence.  He  produced  a  watch  and 
studied  it  frowningly,  then  dismissed  us  and  the 
recital  of  our  troubles  with  a  ponderous  gesture. 

"Repawt  again,"  he  rumbled,  away  down  in  his 
chest  cavity,  "at  hawf — pawst — one." 

*'Yes,  sir,"  MacRae  saluted  again,  and  we  with- 
drew. 

**A  beautiful  specimen;  a  man  of  great  force,"  I 
unburdened  myself  when  we  got  outside.  "Have 
you  many  like  him?  I'd  admire  to  see  him  cavort- 
ing around  on  the  pinnacles  after  horse-thieves  or 
whisky-runners  or  a  bunch  of  bad  Indians.  A 
peaceable  citizen  would  sure  do  well  on  the  other 
side  of  the  line  if  sheriffs  and  marshals  took  a  lay- 
off to  feed  themselves  when  a  man  was  in  the  middle 
of  his  complaint.  How  long  do  you  suppose  it  will 
take  that  fat  slob  to  get  a  squad  of  these  soldier- 
policemen  on  the  trail  of  that  ten  thousand?" 

MacRae  laughed  dryly.  "Old  Dobson  is  harm- 
less, all  right,  so  far  as  hunting  outlaws  is  con- 
cerned.    But  he  doesn't  cut  much  figure  around 


RAW  GOLD  67 


here,  one  way  or  the  other;  no  more  than  two  or 
three  other  'haw-haw'  Enghshmen  who  got  com- 
missions in  the  Force  on  the  strength  of  their  family 
connections.  Lessard — the  major  in  charge — is  the 
brains  of  the  post  He  gets  out  and  does  things 
while  these  fatheads  stay  in  quarters  and  untangle 
red  tape.  Personally,  I  don't  like  Lessard — he's  a 
damned  autocrat.  But  he's  the  man  to  whip  this 
unorganized  country  into  shape.  I  imagine  he'll 
paw  up  the  earth  when  he  hears  our  story." 

We  mounted  and  rode  to  the  stables.  When  we'd 
unsaddled  and  put  up  our  horses,  Mac  led  the  way 
toward  a  row  of  small,  whitewashed  cabins  set  off 
by  themselves,  equidistant  from  barrack  and  officers' 
row. 

"Sometimes  I  eat  with  the  sergeants'  mess,"  Mac 
said.  **But  generally  I  camp  with  'Bat'  Perkins 
when  I  drop  in  here.  Bat's  an  ex-stockhand  like 
ourselves,  and  we'll  be  as  welcome  as  payday.  And 
he'll  know  if  Lyn  Rowan  has  come  to  Walsh." 

I  wasn't  in  shape,  financially,  to  have  any  choice 
in  the  matter  of  a  stopping-place.     Forty  or  fifty 


68  RAW  GOLD 


dollars  of  expense  money  covered  the  loose  cash  in 
my  pockets  when  I  left  Walsh  for  Benton;  and, 
while  I  may  have  neglected  to  mention  the  fact, 
those  two  coin-collectors  didn't  overlook  the  small 
change  when  they  held  me  up  for  La  Pere's  roll. 
There  was  a  sort  of  sheebang — you  couldn't  call  it 
a  hotel  if  you  had  any  regard  for  the  truth — on  the 
outskirts  of  Walsh,  for  the  accommodation  of  way- 
farers without  a  camp-outfit,  but  most  of  the  time 
you  couldn't  get  anything  fit  to  eat  there.  So  I  was 
mighty  glad  to  hear  about  Bat  Perkins. 


CHAPTER  VII.  I 


THIRTY  DAYS   IN   IRONS ! 

IT  transpired,  however,  that  before  we  reached  Bat 
Perkins'  cabin  Mac  got  an  unexpected  answer 
to  one  of  the  questions  he  intended  to  ask.  As 
we  turned  the  corner  of  a  rambHng  log  house, 
which,  from  its  pretentiousness,  I  judged  must 
house  some  Mounted  Police  dignitary,  we  came  face 
to  face  with  a  tall,  keen-featured  man  in  Police  uni- 
form, and  a  girl.  Even  though  Rutter  had  declared 
she  would  be  at  Walsh,  I  wasn't  prepared  to  believe 
it  was  Lyn  Rowan.  Sometimes  five  years  will  work 
a  wonderful  change  in  a  woman;  or  is  it  that  time 
and  distance  work  some  subtle  transition  in  one's 
recollection?  She  didn't  give  me  much  time  to  in- 
dulge in  guesswork,  though.  While  I  wondered, 
'for  an  instant,  if  there  could  by  any  possibility  be 
another  woman  on  God's  footstool  with  quite  the 
same  tilt  to  her  head,  the  same  heavy  coils  of  tawny 
hair  and  unfathomable  eyes  that  always  met  your 


70  RAW  GOLD 


own  so  frankly,  she  recognized  the  pair  of  us; 
though  MacRae  in  uniform  must  have  puzzled  her 
for  an  instant. 

"Gordon — and  Sarge  Flood !  Where  in  the  world 

did  you  come  from  ?    And — and "    She  stopped 

rather  suddenly,  a  bit  embarrassed.  I  knew  just  as 
well  as  if  she  had  spoken  the  words,  that  she  had 
been  on  the  point  of  asking  him  what  he  was  doing 
in  the  yellow-striped  breeches  and  scarlet  jacket  of 
a  Mounted  Policeman.  Whatever  had  parted  them, 
she  hadn't  held  it  against  him.  There  was  an  inde- 
finable something  in  the  way  she  spoke  his  name  and 
looked  at  him  that  told  me  there  was  still  a  soft  spot 
in  her  heart  for  the  high-headed  beggar  by  my  side. 

But  MacRae — while  I  was  wise  to  the  fact  that  he 
was  the  only  friend  I  had  in  that  country,  and  the 
sort  of  friend  that  sticks  closer  than  a  brother,  I 
experienced  a  sincere  desire  to  beat  him  over  the 
noodle  with  my  gun  and  thereby  knock  a  little  of 
the  stiffness  out  of  his  neck — simply  saluted  the 
officer,  tipped  his  hat  to  her,  and  passed  on.  I 
didn't  sabe  the  play,  and  when  I  saw  the  red  flash 


RAW  GOLD  71 


up  into  her  face  it  made  me  hot,  and  there  followed' 
a  few  seconds  when  I  took  a  very  uncharitable  view 
of  Mr.  Gordon  MacRae's  distant  manner.  '  ^1 

The  fellow  with  her,  I  noticed,  seemed  to  draw 
himself  up  very  stiff  and  dignified  when  she  stopped 
and  spoke  to  us ;  and  the  look  with  which  he  favored 
MacRae  was  a  peculiar  one.  It  was  simply  a  vag- 
rant expression,  but  as  it  flitted  over  his  face  it 
lacked  nothing  in  the  way  of  surprised  disapproval; 
I  might  go  farther  and  say  it  was  malignant — the 
kind  of  look  that  makes  a  man  feel  like  reaching 
for  a  weapon.  At  least,  that's  the  impression  it 
made  on  me. 

"I  might  fire  that  question  back  at  you,  Miss 
Rowan,"  I  replied.  "We're  both  a  long  way  from 
the  home  range.  I  was  here  a  day  or  two  ago. 
How  did  you  manage  to  keep  out  of  sight— HDr  have 
you  just  got  in?" 

"Yesterday,  only,"  she  returned.  "We — you  re- 
member old  Mammy  Thomas,  don't  you? — came 
over  from  Benton  with  the  Baker  freight  outfit.  I 
expect  to  meet  dad  here,  in  a  few  days." 


72  RAW  GOLD 


l 


Her  last  sentence  froze  the  words  that  were  all 
ready  to  slip  off  the  end  of  my  tongue,  and  made 
my  grouch  against  MacRae  crystallize  into  a  feeling 
akin  to  anger.  Why  couldn't  the  beggar  stand  his 
ground  and  deliver  the  ugly  tidings  himself  ?  That 
bunch  of  cottonwoods  with  the  new-mad^  grave 
close  by  the  dead  horses  seemed  to  rise  up  between 
us,  and  I  became  speechless.  I  hadn't  the  nerve  to 
stand  there  and  tell  her  she'd  never  see  her  father 
again  this  side  of  the  pearly  gates.  Not  I.  That 
was  a  job  for  somebody  who  could  put  his  arms 
around  her  and  kiss  the  tears  away  from  her  eyes. 
.Unless  I  read  her  wrong,  there  was  only  one  man 
who  could  make  it  easier  for  her  if  he  were  by,  and 
he  was  walking  away  as  if  it  were  none  of  his 
concern. 

Something  of  this  must  have  shown  in  my  face, 
for  she  was  beginning  to  regard  me  curiously.  I 
gathered  my  scattered  wits  and  started  to  make 
some  attempt  at  conversation,  but  the  man  with  the 
shoulder-straps  forestalled  me. 

"Really,  we  must  go.  Miss  Rowan,  or  we  shall 


RAW  GOLD  73 


be  late  for  luncheon,"  he  drawled.  The  insolent 
tone  of  him  was  like  having  one's  face  slapped,  and 
it  didn't  pass  over  Lyn's  head  by  any  means.  I 
thought  to  myself  that  if  he  had  set  out  to  entrench 
himself  in  her  good  graces,  he  was  taking  the  poor- 
est of  all  methods  to  accomplish  that  desirable  end. 

*'Just  a  moment,  major,"  she  said.  *'Are  you 
going  to  be  here  any  length  of  time,  Sarge?" 

"A  day  or  so,"  I  responded  shortly.  I  didn't 
feel  overly  cheerful  with  all  that  bad  news  simmer- 
ing in  my  brain-pan,  and  in  addition  I  had  conceived 
a  full-grown  dislike  for  the  *'major"  and  his  I-am- 
superior-to-you  attitude. 

"Then  come  and  see  me  this  afternoon  if  you 
can.  I'm  staying  with  Mrs.  Stone.  Don't  forget, 
now — I  have  a  thousand  things  I  want  to  talk  about. 
Good-bye."  And  she  smiled  and  turned  away  with 
the  uniformed  snob  by  her  side. 

MacRae  had  loitered  purposely,  and  I  overtook 
him  in  a  few  rods. 

"Well,"  I  blurted  out,  as  near  angry  as  I  ever 
got  at  MacRae  in  all  the  years  I'd  known  him, 


74  RAW  GOLD 


"you're  a  high-headed  cuss,  confound  you !  Is  it  a 
part  of  your  new  philosophy  of  Hfe  to  turn  your 
back  on  every  one  that  you  ever  cared  anything 
for?" 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders  tolerantly.  "What 
did  you  expect  of  me?" 

"You  might  have — oh,  well,  I  suppose  you'll  go 
your  own  gait,  regardless,"  I  sputtered.  "That's 
your  privilege.  But  I  don't  see  how  you  had  the 
nerve  to  pass  her  up  that  way.  Especially  since  that 
Stony  Crossing  deal." 

Mac  took  a  dozen  steps  before  he  answered  me. 

"You  don't  understand  the  lay  of  things,  Sarge,'^ 
he  said,  rather  hesitatingly.  "If  I  have  the  situa- 
tion sized  up  right,  Lyn  is  practically  alone  here, 
and  things  are  going  to  look  pretty  black  to  her 
when  she  learns  what  has  happened.  Hank  never 
had  anything  much  to  do  with  his  people.  I  doubt 
if  Lyn  has  even  a  speaking  acquaintance  with  her 
nearest  kin.  She  has  friends  in  the  South — plenty 
of  them  who'd  be  more  than  glad  to  do  as  much  for 
her  as  you  or  I.     But  we're  a  long  way  from  the 


RAW  GOLD  75 


Canadian  River,  now.  And  so  if  she  has  made 
friends  among  the  official  set  here,  it's  up  to  me  to 
stand  back — until  that  cache  is  found,  anyway." 

"Then  you're  not  going  to  try  and  see  her,  and 
tell  her  about  this  thing  yourself?"  I  asked. 

*'I  can't,"  he  replied  impatiently.  "You'll  have 
to  do  that,  Sarge.  Hang  it,  can't  you  see  where  I 
stand?  The  mere  fact  that  Lessard  was  taking 
her  about  shows  that  these  officers'  women  have  re- 
ceived her  with  open  arms.  They  form  a  clique  as 
exclusive  as  a  quarantined  smallpox  patient,  and  a 
*non-com'  like  myself  is  barred  out,  until  I  win  a 
pair  of  shoulder-straps ;  when  my  rank  would  make 
me  socially  possible.  Meantime,  I'm  a  sergeant,  and 
if  Lyn  went  to  picking  friends  out  of  the  ranks,  I'm 
not  sure  they  wouldn't  drop  her  like  a  hot  potato. 
Sounds  rotten,  but  that's  their  style ;  and  you've  been 
through  the  mill  at  home  enough  to  know  what  it  is 
to  be  knifed  socially.  It's  different  with  you; 
you're  an  American  citizen,  a  countr}^man  of  hers. 
You  understand  ?" 

"Yes,"  I  answered  tartly.     "But  I  don't  under- 


76  RAW  GOLD 


Stand  how  you  can  stomach  this  sort  of  existence. 
.What  is  there  in  it?  Where  is  the  profit  or  satis- 
faction in  this  kind  of  thing,  for  you?  Will  the 
man  in  the  ranks  get  credit  for  taming  the  North- 
west when  his  work  is  done?  Why  the  devil  don't 
you  quit  the  job?  Cut  loose  and  be  a  free  agent 
again." 

''It  is  a  temptation,  the  way  things  have  come  up 
in  the  last  day  or  two,"  he  mused.  "Fd  like  to  be 
foot-loose,  so  I  could  work  it  out  without  any  string 
attached  to  me.  But  there  are  only  two  ways  I 
could  get  out  of  the  Force,  and  neither  is  open.  I 
might  desert,  which  would  be  a  dirty  way  to  sneak 
out  of  a  thing  I  went  into  deliberately;  or,  if  they 
were  minded  to  allow  me,  I  could  buy  my  discharge 
' — and  I  haven't  the  price.  Besides,  I  like  the  game 
and  I  don't  know  that  I  want  to  quit  it.  The  life 
isn't  so  bad.  It's  your  rabidly  independent  point  of 
View.  A  man  that  can't  obey  orders  is  not  likely 
to  climb  to  a  position  where  he  can  give  them.  What 
the  dickens  would  become  of  the  cow-outfits,'*  he 
challenged,   "if   every   stockhand   refused   to  take 


RAW  GOLD  77 


orders  from  the  foreman  and  owners?  Do  you 
stand  on  your  dignity  when  La  Pere  tells  you  to  do 
certain  things  in  a  certain  way?'* 

I  shrugged  my  shoulders.  There  was  just  enough 
truth  in  his  words  to  make  them  hard  to  confute, 
and,  anyway,  I  was  not  in  the  mood  for  that  sort 
of  argument.  But  I  was  very  sure  that  I  would 
rather  be  a  forty-dollar-a-month  cowpuncher  than  a 
sergeant  in  the  Mounted  Police. 

"That  fellow  with  her  is  the  big  gun  here,  is  he?'* 
I  reverted  to  Lyn  and  her  affairs. 

**Yes,"  Mac  answered  shortly,  "that  was  Les- 
sard." 

By  this  time  we  had  come  to  the  last  cabin  in  the 
row.  A  whitewashed  fence  enclosed  a  diminutive 
yard,  and  as  we  turned  in  the  gate  Bat  Perkins 
appeared  in  the  doorway,  both  hands  thrust  deep  in 
his  trousers  pockets  and  a  pipe  sagging  down  one 
comer  of  his  wide  mouth.  He  was  rudely  jovial  in 
his  greeting,  as  most  of  his  type  were.  His  wit  was 
labored,  but  his  welcome  was  none  the  less  genuine. 

**I  seen  yuh  ride  in,  Mac,"  he  grinned,  "an'  I  told 


78  RAW   GOLD 


the  old  woman  t'  turn  herself  loose  on  the  beefsteak 
an'  spuds,  for  here  comes  that  hungry-lookin'  jasper 
from  Pend  d'  Oreille." 

I  was  duly  made  acquainted  with  Bat,  and  later 
with  his  wife,  who,  if  she  did  have  a  trace  of  Indian 
blood  in  her,  could  certainly  qualify  as  the  patron 
saint  of  hungry  men.  Good  cooks  were  a  scarce 
article  on  the  frontier  then.  Bat,  I  learned,  was 
attached  to  the  Force  in  a  civilian  capacity. 

We  ate,  smoked  a  cigarette  apiece,  and  then  it 
was  time  for  us  to  "repawt."  So  we  betook  our- 
selves to  the  seat  of  the  mighty,  to  unload  our  troub- 
les on  the  men  who  directed  the  destinies  of  the 
turbulent  Northwest  and  see  what  they  could  do  to- 
ward alleviating  them. 

This  time  the  orderly  passed  us  in  without  delay, 
and  once  more  we  faced  the  man  of  rank,  who,  after 
taking  our  measure  with  a  deliberate  stare,  ordered 
MacRae  to  state  his  business. 

As  Mac  related  the  unvarnished  tale  of  the 
banked  fire  in  the  canyon,  the  hold-up,  and  the 
double  murder,  a  slight  sound  caused  me  to  turn 


RAW  GOLD  79 


my  head,  and  I  saw  in  a  doorway  that  led  to  another 
room  the  erect  figure  of  Major  Lessard  Hstening 
intently,  a  black  frown  on  his  eagle  face.  When 
MacRae  had  finished  his  story  and  the  incapable 
blockhead  behind  the  desk  sat  there  regarding  the 
two  of  us  as  though  he  considered  that  we  had  been 
the  victims  of  a  rank  hallucination,  Lessard  slammed 
the  door  shut  behind  him  and  strode  into  the  room. 

"I'll  take  charge  of  this,  Captain  Dobson,"  he 
brusquely  informed  the  red-faced  numskull. 

Taking  his  stand  at  the  end  of  the  desk,  he  made 
MacRae  reiterate  in  detail  the  grim  happenings  of 
that  night.  That  over,  he  quizzed  me  for  a  few 
minutes.  Then  he  turned  loose  on  MacRae  with  a 
battery  of  questions.  Could  he  give  a  description  of 
the  men?  Would  he  be  able  to  identify  them? 
Why  did  he  not  exercise  more  precaution  when  in- 
vestigating anything  so  suspicious  as  a  concealed 
fire?  Why  this,  why  that?  Why  didn't  he  send  a 
trooper  to  report  at  once  instead  of  wasting  time  in 
going  to  Stony  Crossing  ?    And  a  dozen  more. 

With  every  word  his  thin-lipped  mouth  drew  into 


80  RAW  GOLD 


harder  lines,  and  the  cold,  domineering  tone, 
weighted  heavy  with  sneering  emphasis,  grated  on 
me  till  I  wanted  to  reach  over  and  slap  his  hand- 
some, smooth-shaven  face.  But  MacRae  stood  at 
"attention"  and  took  his  medicine  dumbly.  He  had 
to.  He  was  in  the  presence,  and  answering  the 
catechism,  of  a  superior  officer,  and  his  superior 
officer  by  virtue  of  a  commission  from  the  Canadian 
government  could  insult  his  manhood  and  lash  him 
unmercifully  with  a  viperish  tongue,  and  if  he  dared 
to  resent  it  by  word  'or  deed  there  was  the  guard- 
house and  the  shame  of  irons — for  discipline  must 
be  maintained  at  any  cost!  I  thanked  the  star  of 
destiny  then  and  there  that  no  Mounted  Police 
officer  had  a  string  attached  to  me,  by  which  he 
could  force  me  to  speak  or  be  silent  at  his  will.  It 
was  a  dirty  piece  of  business  on  Lessard's  part. 
Even  Dobson  eyed  him  wonderingly. 

"Why,  damn  it!"  Lessard  finally  burst  out, 
"you've  handled  this  like  a  green  one,  fresh  from 
over  the  water.  You  are  held  up;  this  man  is 
robbed  of  ten  thousand  dollars;  another  man  is 


RAW  GOLD  81 


murdered  under  your  very  nose — and  then  you 
waste  thirty-six  hours  blundering  around  the  coun- 
try to  satisfy  your  infernal  curiosity.  It's  incredible, 
in  a  man  of  your  frontier  experience,  under  any 
hypothesis  except  that  you  stood  in  with  the  out- 
laws and  held  back  to  assure  their  escape !" 

At  first  MacRae  had  looked  puzzled,  at  a  loss. 
Then  under  the  lash  of  Lessard's  bitter  tongue  the 
dull  red  stole  up  into  his  weather-browned  cheeks, 
glowed  there  an  instant  and  receded,  leaving  his 
face  white  under  the  tan.  His  left  hand  was  at  its 
old,  familiar  trick — fingers  shut  tight  over  the 
thumb  till  the  cords  stood  tense  between  the 
knuckles  and  wrist — a  never-failing  sign  that  in- 
ternally he  was  close  to  the  boiling-point,  no  matter 
how  calm  he  appeared  on  the  surface.  And  when 
Lessard  flung  out  that  last  unthinkable  accusation, 
the  explosion  came. 

"You  lie,  you !"     MacRae  spoke  in  a  cold 

impersonal  tone,  and  only  the  flat  strained  note  be- 
trayed his  feeling;  but  the  term  applied  to  Lessard 
was  one  to  make  a  man's  ears  burn;  it  was  the 


82  RAW  GOLD 


range-riders'  gauntlet  thrown  squarely  in  an  enemy's 
face,  "You  lie  when  you  say  that,  and  you  know 
you  lie.  I  don't  know  your  object,  but  I  call  your 
bluff — you — you  blasted  insect!" 

Lessard,  if  he  had  been  blind  till  then,  saw  what 
was  patent  to  me — that  he  had  gone  a  bit  too  far, 
that  the  man  he  had  baited  so  savagely  was  primed 
to  kill  him  if  he  made  a  crooked  move.  MacRae 
leaned  forward,  his  gray  eyes  twin  coals,  the  thumb 
of  his  right  hand  hooked  suggestively  in  the  cart- 
ridge-belt, close  by  the  protruding  handle  of  his  six- 
shooter.  They  were  a  well-matched  pair;  iron- 
nerved,  both  of  them,  the  sort  of  men  to  face  sud- 
den death  open-eyed  and  unafraid. 

A  full  minute  they  glared  at  each  other  across 
the  desk  corner.  Then  Lessard,  without  moving  a 
muscle  or  altering  his  steady  gaze,  spoke  to  Dobson. 

"Call  the  orderly,"  he  said  quietly. 

Dobson,  mouth  agape,  struck  a  little  bell  on  the 
desk  and  the  orderly  stepped  in  from  the  outer  room. 

"Orderly,  disarm  Sergeant  MacRae." 

Lessard  uttered  the  command  evenly,  without  a 


RAW  GOLD  83 


jarring  note,  his  tone  almost  a  duplicate  of  Mac- 
Rae's.  He  was  a  good  judge  of  men,  that  eagle- 
faced  major;  he  knew  that  the  slightest  move  with 
hostile  intent  would  mean  a  smoking  gun.  MacRae 
would  have  shot  him  dead  in  his  tracks  if  he'd  tried 
to  reach  a  weapon.  But  a  man  who  is  really  game 
— which  no  one  who  knew  him  could  deny  MacRae 
— won't,  can't  shoot  down  another  unless  that  other 
shows  fight;  and  a  knowledge  of  that  gun-fighters* 
trait  saved  Major  Lessard's  hide  from  being  thor- 
oughly punctured  that  day. 

The  orderly,  a  rather  shaky  orderly  if  the  trutH 
be  told  (I  think  he  must  have  listened  through  the 
keyhole ! )  stepped  up  to  Mac. 

*'Give  me  your  side-arms,  sergeant,"  he  said,  ner- 
vously. 

MacRae  looked  from  one  to  the  other,  and  for  a 
breath  I  was  as  nervous  as  the  trooper.  It  was 
touch  and  go,  just  then,  and  if  he'd  gone  the  wrong 
way  it's  altogether  likely  that  I'd  have  felt  called 
upon  to  back  his  play,  and  there  would  have  been  a 
horrible  mix-up  in  that  two  by  four  room.    But  he 


84  RAW  GOLD 


didn't.    Just  smiled,  a  sardonic  sort  of  grimace,  and  i 

unbuckled  his  belt  and  handed  it  over  without  a 
word.    He'd  begun  to  cool. 

'Reduced  to  the  ranks — thirty  days  in  irons— ^ 


til 


i 


solitary  confinement!"    Lessard  snapped  the  words 

i 
out  with  a  wolfish  satisfaction.  j 

''Keep  a  close  mouth,  Sarge,"  MacRae  spoke  in  | 

Spanish  with  his  eyes  bent  on  the  floor,  "and  don't 

quit  the  country  till  I  get  out."    Then  he  turned  at  | 

1 

the  orderly's   command  and  marched  out  of  the  : 

room. 

When  I  again  turned  to  Lessard  he  still  stood  at 
the  end  of  the  desk,  industriously  paring  his  finger-  '■ 

nails.    An  amused  smile  wrinkled  the  corners  of  his  1 

mouth. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

LYN. 

WHEREAS  Lessard  had  acted  the  martinet 
with  MacRae,  he  took  another  tack  and 
became  the  very  essence  of  affabihty  to- 
ward me.  (I'd  have  enjoyed  punching  his  proud 
head,  for  all  that ;  it  was  a  dirty  way  to  serve  a  man 
who  had  done  his  level  best.) 

"Rather  unfortunate  happening  for  you,  Flood," 
he  began.  "I  think,  however,  that  we  shall  event- 
ually get  your  money  back." 

"I  hope  so,"  I  replied  coolly.  "But  I  must  say 
that  it  begins  to  look  like  a  big  undertaking." 

"Well,  yes;  it  is,"  he  observ^ed.  "Still,  we  have  a 
pretty  thorough  system  of  keeping  track  of  things 
like  that.  This  is  a  big  country,  but  you  can  count 
on  the  fingers  of  one  hand  the  places  where  a  man 
can  spend  money.  Of  course,  you  probably  realize 
the  difficulty  of  laying  hands  on  men  who  know 
they  are  wanted,  and  act  accordingly.     We  can't 


86  RAW  GOLD 


arrest  on  a  description,  because  you  wouldn't  know 
the  men  if  you  saw  them.  Our  only  chance  is  to  be 
on  the  lookout  for  free  spenders.  It's  a  certainty 
that  they  will  be  captured  if  they  spend  that  money 
at  any  trading-post  within  our  jurisdiction.  I'll 
find  out  if  the  quartermaster  knows  the  numbers 
and  denomination  of  the  bills.  On  the  other  hand, 
if  they  go  south,  cross  the  line,  you  know,  we  won't 
get  much  of  a  show  at  them.  But  we'll  have  to  take 
chances  on  that." 

"I've  done  all  I  can  do  in  that  direction,"  I  said. 
"I've  sent  word  to  La  Pere." 

"You  had  better  stay  hereabout  for  a  while,"  he 
decided.  "You  can  put  up  at  one  of  the  troop- 
messes  for  a  few  days.  I'll  send  a  despatch  to 
Whoop  Up  and  MacLeod,  and  we'll  see  what  turns 
up.  Also  I  think  I  shall  send  a  detail  to  bring  in 
those  bodies.  The  identification  must  be  made  com- 
plete. No  doubt  it  will  be  a  trial  for  Miss  Rowan, 
but  I  think  she  would  feel  better  to  have  her  father 
buried  here.  By  the  way,  you  knew  the  Rowans  in 
the  States,  I  believe." 


RAW  GOLD  87 


"Was  trail-boss  three  seasons  for  Hank  Rowan 
and  his  partner,"  I  returned  briefly.  I  didn't  much 
like  his  offhand  way  of  asking;  not  that  it  wasn't  a 
perfectly  legitimate  query.  But  I  couldn't  get  rid 
of  the  notion  that  he  would  hand  me  out  the  same 
dose  he  had  given  MacRae  if  only  he  had  the  power. 

"Ah,"  he  remarked.  "Then  perhaps  you  would 
like  to  go  out  and  help  bring  in  those  bodies.  It 
will  save  taking  the  Pend  d'  Oreille  riders  from 
their  regular  patrol,  and  we  are  having  considerable 
trouble  with  whisky- runners  these  days." 

I  agreed  to  go,  and  that  terminated  the  conversa- 
tion. I  didn't  mind  going;  in  fact  some  sort  of 
action  appealed  to  me  just  then.  I  had  no  idea  of 
going  back  to  Benton  right  away,  and  sitting  around 
Fort  Walsh  waiting  for  something  to  turn  up  was 
not  my  taste.  It  never  struck  me  till  I  was  outside 
the  ofiice  that  Lessard  had  passed  up  the  gold  epi- 
sode altogether;  he  hadn't  said  whether  he  would 
send  any  one  to  prognosticate  around  Writing-Stone 
or  not.  I  wondered  if  he  took  any  stock  in  Rutter's 
story,  or  thought  it  merely  one  of  the  queer  turns 


88  RAW  GOLD 


a  man's  brain  will  sometimes  take  when  he  is  dying. 
It  had  sounded  off-color  to  me,  at  first ;  but  I  knew 
old  Hans  pretty  well,  and  he  always  seemed  to  me  a 
hard-headed,  matter  of  fact  sort  of  man,  not  at  all 
the  flighty  kind  of  pilgrim  that  gets  mixed  in  his 
mental  processes  when  things  go  wrong.  Besides, 
if  there  wasn't  some  powerful  incentive,  why  that 
double  killing,  to  say  nothing  of  the  incredible  devil- 
ishness  that  accompanied  it. 

Once  out  of  the  official  atmosphere,  I  hesitated 
over  my  next  move.  Lessard's  high-handed  squelch- 
ing of  MacRae  had  thrown  everything  out  of  focus. 
We'd  planned  to  report  at  headquarters,  see  Lyn,  if 
she  were  at  Walsh,  and  then  with  Pend  d'  Oreille 
as  a  base  of  operations  go  on  a  still  hunt  for  what- 
ever the  Writing-Stone  might  conceal.  That 
scheme  was  knocked  galley-west  and  crooked,  for 
even  when  MacRae's  term  expired  he'd  get  a  long 
period  of  duty  at  the  Fort;  he'd  lost  his  rank,  and 
as  a  private  his  coming  and  going  would  be  accor- 
ding to  barrack-rule  instead  of  the  freedom  allowed 
a  sergeant  in  charge  of  an  outpost  like  Pend  d' 


RAW  GOLD  89 


Oreille — I  knew  that  much  of  the  Mounted  Police 
style  of  doing  business.  And  so  far  as  my  tackling 
single-handed  a  search  for  Hank  Rowan's  cache — 
well,  I  decided  to  see  Lyn  before  I  took  that  con- 
tract. 

I  hated  that,  too.  It  always  went  against  my 
grain  to  be  a  bearer  of  ill  tidings.  I  hate  to  make 
a  woman  cry,  especially  one  I  like.  Some  one  had 
to  tell  her,  though,  and,  much  as  I  disliked  the 
mission,  I  felt  that  I  ought  not  to  hang  back  and  let 
some  stranger  blurt  it  out.  So  I  nailed  the  first 
trooper  I  saw,  and  had  him  show  me  the  domicile 
of  Mrs.  Stone — who,  I  learned,  was  the  wife  of 
Lessard's  favorite  captain — and  thither  I  rambled, 
wishing  mightily  for  a  good  stiff  jolt  out  of  the  keg 
that  Piegan  Smith  and  Mac  had  clashed  over.  But 
if  there  was  any  bottled  nerve- restorer  around  Fort 
Walsh  it  was  tucked  away  in  the  officers'  cellars, 
and  not  for  the  benefit  of  the  common  herd;  so  I 
had  to  fall  back  on  a  cigarette. 

Lyn  was  sitting  out  in  front  when  I  reached  the 
place.     Another  female  person,  whom  I  put  down 


90  RAW  GOLD 


as  Madam  Stone,  arose  and  disappeared  through  an 
open  door  at  my  approach.  Lyn  motioned  me  to  a 
camp-stool  close  by.  I  sat  down,  and  immediately 
my  tongue  became  petrified.  My  think-machinery 
was  running  at  a  dizzy  speed,  but  words — if  silence 
is  truly  golden,  I  was  the  richest  man  in  Fort  Walsh 
that  afternoon,  for  a  few  minutes,  at  least.  And 
when  my  vocal  organs  did  at  last  consent  to  fulfil 
their  natural  of^ce,  they  refused  to  deliver  anything 
but  empty  commonplaces,  the  kind  one's  tongue 
carries  in  stock  for  occasional  moments  of  barren 
speech.  These  oral  inanities  only  served  to  make 
Lyn  give  me  the  benefit  of  a  look  of  amused  wonder. 

*'Dear  me,"  she  laughed  at  last.  *'I  wonder  what 
weighty  matter  is  crushing  you  to  the  earth.  If 
you've  got  anything  on  your  conscience,  Sarge,  for 
goodness'  sake  confess.  I'll  give  you  absolution,  if 
you  like,  and  then  perhaps  you'll  be  a  little  more 
cheerful." 

"No,  there's  nothing  particular  weighing  me 
down,"  I  lied  flatly.  "Anyway,  I  don't  aim  to  un- 
load my  personal  troubles  on  you.    I  came  over  here 


RAW  GOLD  91 


to  acquire  a  little  information.  How  came  you  away 
up  here  by  your  lonesome,  and  what  brought  your 
father  and  old  Hans " 

Her  purple-shaded  eyes  widened,  each  one  a  ques- 
tion-mark. 

"Who  told  you  that  Hans  was  up  North?  I  know 
I  didn't  mention  him,"  she  cut  in  quickly.  *'Have 
vou  seen  them?" 

It's  a  wonder  my  face  didn't  betray  the  fact  that 
I  was  holding  something  back.  I  know  I  must  have 
looked  guilty  for  a  second.  That  was  a  question  I 
would  gladly  have  passed  up,  but  her  eyes  demanded 
an  answer. 

"Well,"  I  protested,  "it  occurred  to  me  that  if 
you  expected  to  meet  your  father  here  in  a  day  or 
two,  Rutter  would  naturally  be  with  him,  seeing 
that  they've  paddled  in  the  same  canoe  since  a  good 
many  years  before  you  were  born,  my  lady.  What 
jarred  you  all  loose  from  Texas?  And  what  the 
mischief  did  you  do  to  MacRae  that  he  quit  the 
South  next  spring  after  I  did,  and  straightway  went 
to  soldiering  in  this  country?** 


92  RAW  GOLD 


She  shied  away  from  that  query,  just  as  I  ex- 
pected. "We  had  oceans  of  trouble  after  you  left 
there,  Sarge,"  she  told  me,  turning  her  head  from 
me  so  that  her  gaze  wandered  over  the  barrack- 
square.  "It  really  doesn't  make  pleasant  telling,  but 
you'll  understand  better  than  some  one  that  didn't 
know  the  country.  You  remember  Dick  Feltz,  and 
that  old  trouble  about  the  Conway  brand  that  dad 
bought  a  long  time  back?" 

I  nodded;  I  remembered  Mr.  Feltz  very  well  in- 
deed, for  the  well-merited  killing  of  one  of  his  hired 
assassins  was  the  main  cause  of  my  hasty  departure 
from  Texas. 

"Well,  it  came  to  a  head,  one  day,  in  Fort  Worth. 
They  shot  each  other  up  terribly,  and  a  week  or  so 
later  Feltz  died.  His  people  in  the  East  got  it  into 
their  heads  that  it  was  a  case  of  murder.  They 
stirred  up  the  county  authorities  till  every  one  was 
taking  sides.  Of  course,  dad  was  cleared ;  but  that 
seemed  to  be  the  beginning  of  a  steady  run  of  bad 
luck.  The  trial  cost  an  awful  lot  of  money,  and 
made  enemies,  too.    Feltz  had  plenty  of  friends  of 


RAW  GOLD  93 


his  own  calibre — you  know  that  to  your  sorrow, 
don't  you,  Sarge? — and  they  started  trouble  on  the 
range.  It  was  simply  terrible  for  a  while.  Dad  can 
supply  the  details  when  he  comes."  ("when  he 
comes" — I  tell  you,  that  jarred  me.)  "Finally 
things  got  to  such  a  pass  that  dad  had  to  quit.  And 
what  with  a  deal  in  some  Mexican  cattle  that  didn't 
•turn  out  well,  and  some  other  business  troubles  that 
I  never  quite  understood,  we  were  just  about  fin- 
ished when  we  closed  out." 

She  let  her  eyes  meet  mine  for  an  instant,  and 
they  were  smiling,  making  light  of  it  all.  Most 
women,  I  thought,  would  have  had  a  good  cry,  or  at 
least  pulled  a  long  face,  over  a  hard-luck  story  like 
ithat.  But  she  was  really  more  of  a  woman  than  I 
had  thought  her,  and  I  thanked  the  Lord  she  was 
game  when  I  remembered  what  I  had  to  tell  her 
_before  I  was  through. 

"Dad  and  Hans  Rutter,  as  you  know,  weren't  the 
sort  of  men  to  sit  around  and  mourn  over  anything 
like  that,"  she  laughed.  *'I  don't  know  where  they 
got  the  idea  of  going  to  Peace  River.     But  dad 


94  RAW  GOLD 


settled  me  and  Mammy  Thomas  in  a  little  cottage 
in  Austin,  and  they  started.  I  wanted  to  go  along, 
but  dad  wouldn't  hear  of  it.  They've  been  gone  a 
little  over  two  years.  I'd  get  word  from  them  about 
every  three  months,  and  early  this  spring  dad  wrote 
that  they  had  made  a  good  stake  and  were  coming 
home.  He  said  I  could  come  as  far  as  Benton  to 
meet  them,  and  we  would  take  the  boat  from  there 
down  to  St.  Louis.  So  I  looked  up  the  lay  of  the 
country,  and  sent  him  word  I  would  come  as  far  as 
Walsh.  He  had  said  they  would  come  out  by  way 
of  this  place.  And  then  I  rounded  up  Mammy 
Thomas  and  struck  out.  I've  rather  enjoyed  the 
trip,  too.    They  should  be  here  any  day,  now." 

My  conscience  importuned  me  to  tell  her  bluntly 
that  they  would  only  come  into  Walsh  feet  first. 
But  I  dodged  the  unpleasant  opening.  There  was 
another  matter  I  wanted  to  touch  upon  first. 

"Look  here,  Lyn,"  I  said — rather  dubiously,  it 
must  be  confessed,  for  I  didn't  know  how  she  would 
take  it,  "I'm  going  to  tell  you  something  on  my  own 
responsibility,  and  you  mustn't  get  the  idea  that  I'm 


RAW  GOLD  95 


trying  to  mix  into  your  personal  affairs  without  a 
warrant.  But  I  have  a  hunch  that  you're  laboring 
under  a  mistaken  impression,  right  now;  that  is, 
if  you  care  anything  about  an  old  friend  like  Mac- 
Rae." 

"I  can't  really  say  that  I  do,  though,"  she  assured 
me  quickly,  but  she  colored  in  a  way  that  convinced 
me  that  her  feeling  toward  AlacRae  was  of  the  sort 
she  would  never  admit  to  any  one  but  himself. 

"Well/'  I  continued,  ''I  imagined  you  would  think 
it  queer  that  he  should  pass  you  up  as  he  did  a  while 
ago.  But  here  at  Fort  Walsh  we're  among  a  class 
of  people  that  are  a  heap  different  from  Texas  cow- 
punchers.  These  redcoats  move  along  social  lines 
that  don't  look  like  much  to  a  cowman ;  but  once  in 
the  Force  you  must  abide  by  them.  It  was  con- 
sideration for  you  that  forbade  MacRae  to  stop. 
Any  woman  in  the  company  of  an  officer  is  taboo  to 
an  enlisted  man,  according " 


"I  know  all  that,"  she  interrupted  impatiently. 
"Probably  they'd  cut  me,  and  all  that  sort  of  thing. 
I  understand  their  point  of  view,  exactly,  but  Fm 


96  RAW  GOLD 


not  here  to  play  the  social  game,  and  I  shall  talk  to 
whom  it  pleases  me.  Do  you  or  Gordon  MacRae 
honestly  believe  I  care  a  snap  for  their  petty  con- 
ventions?" 

"No,  I  know  you  better  than  that,'*  I  responded. 
"All  the  same,  this  is  a  pretty  rough  country  for  a 
woman,  and  if  you've  made  friends  among  the 
people  on  top,  they  may  come  in  handy.  For  that 
matter,"  I  concluded,  "you  won't  get  a  chance  to 
have  the  cold  shoulder  turned  to  you  for  associating 
with  MacRae;  not  for  some  time,  anyway." 

"What  do  you  mean?"  she  demanded,  in  that 
answer-me-at-once  way  I  knew  of  old. 

"MacRae  has  gotten  into  a  bad  hole,"  I  told  her 
plainl3^  "Major  Lessard,  who  happens  to  be  the 
big  chief  in  this  neck  of  the  woods,  seems  to  have 
developed  a  sudden  grouch  against  him.  There  was 
a  hold-up  night  before  last — in  fact,  I  was  the  vic- 
tim. I  was  separated  from  a  big  bunch  of  money 
that  belongs  to  the  outfit  I'm  working  for.  Mac 
was  with  me  at  the  time.  He  had  to  come  in  here 
and  report  it,  for  it  happened  in  his  district,  and  the 


RAW  GOLD  97 


major  raked  him  over  the  coals  in  a  way  that  was 
hard  to  stand.  You  know  MacRae,  Lyn ;  it's  mighty 
poor  business  for  any  man  to  tread  on  his  toes, 
much  less  go  walking  rough-shod  all  over  him. 
Lessard  went  the  length  of  accusing  him  of  being 
in  with  these  hold-up  men,  because  he  did  a  little 
investigating  on  his  own  account  before  coming  in 
to  report.  Mac  took  that  pretty  hard,  and  came 
mighty  near  making  the  major  eat  his  words  with 
gunpowder  sauce  on  the  side.  So,  for  having  the 
nerve  to  declare  himself,  he  has  lost  his  sergeant's 
stripes  and  has  likewise  gone  to  the  guard-house  to 
meditate  over  the  foolishness  of  taking  issue  with 
his  superiors.  If  you  don't  see  him  for  the  next 
thirty  days,  you'll  have  the  consolation  of  knowing 
that  he  isn't  avoiding  you  purposely." 

It  was  a  rather  flippant  way  to  talk,  but  it  was 
the  best  I  could  do  under  the  circumstances.  The 
last  three  days  hadn't  been  exactly  favorable  to  a 
normal  state  of  mind,  or  well-considered  speech. 

But — who  was  the  wise  mortal  that  said:  "No 
man  knoweth  the  mind  of  a  maid"? — she  sat  there 


98  RAW   GOLD 


quite  unmoved,  her  hands  resting  quietly  in  her  lap. 
*'We  all  seem  to  be  more  or  less  under  a  cloud, 
Sarge,"  she  said  slowly.  "Maybe  when  dad  comes 
he  can  furnish  a  silver  lining  for  it.  I  sometimes — 
what  makes  you  look  that  way?  You  look  as  if 
you  were  thinking  it  my  fault  that  Gordon  is  in 
trouble." 

"You're  wrong  there,"  I  protested,  truthfully 
enough. 

"But  you  have  that  air,"  she  declared.  "And  Fm 
not  to  blame.     If  he  hadn't  been  so — so — I'm  sure 


he'd  get  out  of  the  Mounted  Police  fast  enough  if 
he  didn't  like  it.  I  can't  imagine  him  doing  any- 
thing against  his  will.  I  never  knew  him" — with  a 
faint  smile — "  to  stay  anywhere  or  do  anything  that 
didn't  suit  him."  She  took  to  staring  out  across  the 
grounds  again,  and  one  hand  drew  up  slowly  till 
it  was  doubled  into  a  tight-shut  little  fist. 

"Well,  he's  in  that  very  fix  right  now.  And  he's 
likely  to  continue  so,  unless  some  one  buys  his  re- 
lease from  the  service  and  makes  him  a  present  of  it 
You  might  play  the  good  angel,"  I  suggested,  half 


RAW  GOLD  99 


in  earnest.  *'It  only  costs  about  five  hundred  dol- 
lars"— Mac  had  told  me  that — "and  I'm  sure  he'd 
be  properly  grateful." 

The  red  flag  waved  in  her  cheeks  again.  **I  don't 
particularly  like  the  idea,"  she  said,  rather  crossly, 
still  keeping  her  face  turned  away  from  me,  "and 
I'm  very  sure  he  wouldn't  care  to  have  me.  But 
dad  thinks  a  lot  of  him;  he  might  do  something  of 
the  kind  when  he  gets  here.  Dear,  I  wish  they'd 
hurry  along." 

She  had  me  at  the  end  of  my  rope  at  last,  and  I 
felt  like  breaking  away  right  there;  any  one  not 
utterly  calloused  would,  I  think,  have  felt  the  same 
squeamishness  with  that  sort  of  a  tale  crowding 
close.  If  she  had  been  expecting  bad  news  of  any 
kind  it  wouldn't  have  been  so  hard  to  go  on;  but  I 
couldn't  beat  about  the  bush  any  longer,  so  I  made 
the  plunge  with  what  grace  I  could. 

"Lyn,  I've  got  something  to  tell  you  about  your 
father  and  old  Hans,  and  I'm  afraid  it's  going  to 
hurt,"  I  prefaced  gently,  and  went  on  before  she 
could  interrupt.     "The  fellows  who  held  MacRae 


100  RAW  GOLD 


and  me  up  had  someway  got  wind  of  the  gold  they 
were  packing  out.  They  tried  to  get  it.  So  far  as 
I  know,  they  haven't  succeeded  yet.  Rutter  tried  to 
tell  us  where  it  was  cached.  There  was  a  fight  over 
it,  you  see,  and  he  was  shot.  Mac  and  I  came  across 
him — ^but  not  soon  enough."  I  stopped  and  got  out 
cigarette  material  in  an  absent  sort  of  way.  My 
lips,  I  remember,  were  almighty  dry  just  then. 

"And  dad  ?"  Lyn  was  looking  at  me  intently,  and 
her  voice  was  steady;  that  squeezed  kind  of  steadi- 
ness that  is  almost  worse  than  tears. 

"He  wasn't  with  Rutter."  I  drew  a  long  b'reatli 
and  hurried  on,  slurring  over  the  worst  of  it.  "They 
had  got  separated.  Hans  was  about  done  when  we 
found  him — he  died  in  a  few  minutes — ^but  he  told 
us  where  to  go.  Then  we  went  to  look  for  your 
father.  We  found  him;  too  late  to  do  any  good. 
We  buried  him — ^both  of  them — and  came  on  here." 

I  felt  like  a  beast,  as  if  I  had  struck  her  with  my 
fist,  but  at  any  rate,  it  was  all  told ;  all  that  she  need 
ever  know.  I  sat  still  and  watched  her,  wondering 
nervously  what  she  would  do. 


RAW  GOLD  101 


It  was  a  strain  to  sit  there  silent,  for  Lyn  neither 
did  or  said  anything  at  first.  Perhaps  she  cried 
afterward,  when  she  got  by  herself,  but  not  then; 
just  looked  at  me,  through  me,  almost,  her  face 
white  and  drawn  into  pained  lines,  and  those  purple- 
blue  eyes  perfectly  black.  I  got  up  at  last,  and  put 
one  hand  on  her  shoulder. 

"It's  hell,  little  girl,  I  know."  I  said  this  hardly 
realizing  that  I  swore.  "We  can't  bring  the  old  man 
back  to  life,  but  we  can  surely  run  down  the  cold- 
blooded devils  that  killed  him.  I  have  a  crow  to 
pick  with  them  myself;  but  that  doesn't  matter;  I'd 
be  in  the  game  anyway.  We'll  get  them  somehow, 
when  Mac  gets  out  and  can  play  his  hand  again.  It 
was  finding  your  father  and  giving  him  decent 
burial  that  kept  us  out  so  long.  I  don't  understand, 
yet,  why  Lessard  should  pitch  into  MacRae  so  hard 
for  doing  that  much.  You  know  Mac,  Lyn,  and 
you  know  me — we'll  do  what  we  can." 

She  didn't  move  for  a  minute,  and  the  shocked, 
stricken  look  in  her  eyes  grew  more  intense.  Then 
she  dropped  her  head  in  the  palms  of  her  hands  with 


102  RAW  GOLD 


a  little  sobbing  cry.  "Sarge,  I — I  wish  you'd  go, 
now,"  she  whispered.  "I  want  to — to  be  all  by  my- 
self, for  a  while.    I'll  be  all  right  by  and  by." 

I  stood  irresolute  for  a  second.  It  may  have  been 
my  fancy,  but  I  seemed  to  hear  her  whisper,  "Oh, 
Gordon,  Gordon!"  Then  I  hesitated  no  longer,  but 
turned  away  and  left  her  alone  with  her  grief;  it 
was  not  for  me  to  comfort  her.  And  when  I  had 
walked  a  hundred  yards  or  more,  I  looked  back. 
She  was  still  sitting  as  I  had  left  her,  head  bowed  on 
her  hands,  and  the  afternoon  sun  playing  hide-and- 
seek  in  the  heavy  coils  of  her  tawny-gold  hair. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

AN   IDLE   AFTERNOON. 

FOR  the  next  hour  or  two  I  poked  aimlessly 
around  the  post  buildings,  chafing  at  the 
forced  inaction  and  wondering  what  I  would 
better  do  after  I'd  gone  with  the  squad  of  redcoats 
to  those  graves  and  helped  bring  the  bodies  in. 
Even  if  I  had  a  pack-horse  and  a  grub-stake,  it 
would  be  on  a  par  with  chasing  a  rainbow  for  me 
to  start  on  a  lone  hunt  for  Hank  Rowan's  cache. 
I  didn't  know  the  Writing-Stone  country,  and  a 
man  had  no  business  wandering  up  and  down  those 
somber  ridges  alone,  away  from  the  big  freight- 
trails,  unless  he  was  anxious  to  be  among  the  "re- 
ported missing" — which  he  sure  would  be  if  a  bunch 
of  non-treaty  Indians  ever  got  within  gunshot  of 
him.  I  damned  Major  Lessard  earnestly  for  what 
I  considered  his  injustice  to  MacRae,  and  won- 
•dered  if  he  would  send  his  troopers  out  to  look  for 


104  RAW  GOLD 


that  hypothetical  gold-dust.  I  didn't  see  how  he 
could  avoid  making  a  bluff  at  doing  so,  even  if  he 
secretly  classed  Rutter's  story  as  a  fairy-tale,  and  I 
promised  myself  to  find  out  what  he  was  going  to 
do  before  I  started  in  the  morning. 

While  I  was  sitting  with  my  back  against  the 
shaded  wall  of  troop  G's  barrack,  turning  this  over 
in  my  mind,  a  Policeman  with  the  insignia  of  a 
sergeant  on  his  sleeve  came  sauntering  leisurely  by. 
He  took  me  in  with  an  appraising  glance,  and 
stopped. 

"How  d'ye  do,"  he  greeted,  with  a  friendly  nod. 
"You're  the  man  that  came  in  with  MacRae,  aren't 


you?" 

I  laconically  admitted  that  I  was. 

"The  k.  o.  has  detailed  me  to  bring  in  the  bodies 
of  the  two  men  who  were  killed,"  he  informed  me. 
"He  said  that  you  were  going  along,  and  so  I 
thought  I'd  hunt  you  up  and  tell  you  that  we'll  start 
about  seven  in  the  morning." 

"I'll  be  ready,"  I  assured  him. 

"Come  on  over  to  the  bull-pen,"  he  invited  cor- 


RAW  GOLD  105 


dially.  "Sorry  we  haven't  a  canteen  in  connection, 
but  it's  more  comfortable  over  there.  Good  place 
to  lop  about,  y'  know;  a  decent  place  to  sit,  and  a 
few  books  and  cards  and  that  sort  of  thing.  Come 
along." 

I  rather  liked  the  man's  style,  and  as  he  seemed  to 
be  really  anxious  to  make  things  pleasant  for  me,  I 
shuffled  off  the  pessimistic  mood  I  was  drifting  into, 
and  fell  in  with  his  proposal.  The  "bull-pen" 
proved  to  be  a  combination  reading  and  lounging- 
room  for  the  troopers  not  on  duty.  My  self-ap- 
pointed host,  whose  name  was  Goodell,  waved  me 
to  a  chair,  and  took  one  opposite.  With  his  feet 
cocked  up  on  a  window-sill,  and  a  cigarette  going, 
he  leaned  back  in  his  chair,  and  our  conversation 
slackened  so  that  I  had  a  chance  to  observe  my  sur- 
roundings. It  was  a  big  place,  probably  fifty  feet 
by  a  hundred,  and  quite  a  number  of  redcoats  were 
sprinkled  about,  some  reading,  some  writing  letters, 
and  two  or  three  groups  playing  cards.  None  of 
them  paid  any  attention  to  me,  beyond  an  occasional 
disinterested  glance,  until  my  roving  eyes  reached 


106  RAW  GOLD 


a  point  directly  behind  me.  Then  I  became  aware 
that  one  of  a  bunch  of  four  poker-players  a  few 
feet  distant  was  regarding  me  with  an  expression 
that  puzzled  me.  I  had  turned  my  head  rather 
quickly  and  caught  him  staring  straight  at  me.  It 
was  an  odd  look,  sort  of  amused,  and  speculative; 
at  least,  that  was  the  way  I  read  it.  Twice  in  the 
next  ten  minutes  I  glanced  around  quickly  and 
caught  him  sizing  me  up,  as  it  were;  and  then  I 
hitched  my  chair  sidewise,  and  deliberately  began 
studying  the  gentleman  to  see  if  I  could  discover  the 
source  of  his  interest  in  me. 

I  failed  in  that,  but  I  stopped  his  confounded 
quizzical  stare.  He  wasn't  the  style  of  man  that  I'd 
care  to  stir  up  trouble  with,  judging  from  his  size 
and  the  shape  of  his  head.  He  was  about  my  height, 
but  half  as  broad  again  across  the  shoulders,  and  his 
thick,  heavy-boned  wrists  showed  hairy  as  an  ape's 
when  he  stretched  his  arms  to  deal  the  cards.  Aside 
from  his  physical  proportions,  there  was  nothing 
about  the  man  to  set  him  apart  from  his  fellows. 
Half  a  dozen  men  in  that  room  had  the  same  shade 


RAW  GOLD  107 


of  hair  and  mustache,  and  the  same  ordinary  blue 
eyes.  I  turned  back  to  the  window  again,  thinking 
that  I  was  getting  nervous  as  an  old  maid,  to  let  a 
curious  look  from  a  stranger  stir  me  like  that. 

In  a  few  minutes  the  trooper  opposite  my  friend 
of  the  poker-game  drew  out,  and  one  of  the  players 
called  loudly  on  Goodell  to  take  his  place.  Goodell 
lighted  another  cigarette  and  nonchalantly  seated 
himself  in  the  vacant  chair.  Then  I  observed  for 
the  first  time  that  the  game  was  for  blood  rather 
than  pastime,  for  Goodell  paid  for  his  little  pile  of 
white  beans  in  good,  gold  coin  of  the  realm.  Next 
to  playing  a  little  "draw"  myself,  I  like  to  watch 
the  game,  and  so  I  moved  over  where  I  could  see 
the  bets  made  and  the  hands  exhibited.  And  there  I 
stuck  till  "stables"  sounded,  watching  the  affable 
sergeant  outgeneral  his  opponents,  and  noting  with 
some  amusement  the  sulky  look  that  grew  more 
intensified  on  the  heavy  face  of  Hicks  (as  they 
called  the  man  who  had  favored  me  with  that 
peculiar  stare)  when  Goodell  finessed  him  out  of 
two  or  three  generous-sized  pots. 


108  RAW  GOLD 


On  my  way  to  attend  to  my  horse,  Bat  Perkins 
overtook  me. 

"Say,  old-timer,  is  it  right  about  Mac  losing  his 
stripes  and  getting  thirty  days  in  the  cooler?"  he 
asked  in  lowered  tone. 

"It  sure  is,"  I  answered  emphatically. 

"What  in  thunder  for?"  he  inquired  resentfully. 
And  because  I  was  aching  to  express  my  candid 
opinion  of  Major  Lessard  and  all  his  works  to  some 
one  who  would  understand  my  point  of  view,  I  told 
Bat  all  about  it — omitting  any  mention  of  the  gold- 
dust.  Only  four  men,  Dobson  the  fathead,  Lessard, 
MacRae  and  myself,  knew  what  little  was  known  of 
that,  and  I  felt  that  I  had  no  license  to  spread  the 
knowledge  further. 

"Oh,  they  sure  do  hand  it  to  a  man  if  he  malces 
the  least  break,"  Bat  sympathized.  "Mac's  one  uH 
the  best  men  they've  got  in  the  Force,  an'  they  know 
it,  too.  Darned  if  that  don't  sound  queer  t'  me; 
what  else  could  he  do  ?  But  Lessard's  a  overbearin' 
son-of-a-gun  all  round,  and  he's  always  breakin' 
out  in  a  new  place.     Say,  you  might  as  well  come 


RAW  GOLD  109 


over  an'  stay  with  me  while  you're  round  here.  I 
don't  reckon  you'll  enjoy  her  din'  with  these  rough- 
necks." 

Bat's  offer  was  not  one  to  be  overlooked  by  a 
man  in  my  circumstances,  so  after  supper  found  me 
sitting  in  his  kitchen  making  gloomy  forecasts  of 
the  future,  between  cigarettes.  Shortly  before  the 
moon-faced  clock  nailed  on  the  wall  struck  the  hour 
of  nine  with  a  great  internal  whirring,  some  one 
tapped  lightly  on  the  door.  Bat  himself  answered 
the  knock.  His  body  shut  off  sight  of  whoever 
stood  outside.  I  could  just  catch  the  murmur  of  a 
subdued  voice.  After  a  few  seconds  of  listening 
Bat  nodded  vigorously,  and  closed  the  door.  He 
came  back  to  his  chair  grinning  pleasantly,  and 
handed  me  a  little  package.  I  tore  it  open  and 
found,  wrapped  tightly  about  three  twenty-dollar 
gold  pieces,  an  unsigned  note  from  MacRae.  It 
ran: 

"Get  after  Lessard  and  see  If  he  won't  send  an  escort  witH 
you  to  Writing-Stone.  If  he  does,  and  you  find  anything,  I 
needn't  warn  you  to  be  careful.  I  don't  think  he  beheved  our 
yam,  at  all.     If  he  refuses  to  act,  stay  here  till  I  get  out. 


no  RAW  GOLD 


This 
If  you 
can. 


money  will  hold  you  for  a  while.    It's  all  I  could  rustle, 
lu  need  more,  maybe  Bat  can  stake  you — he  will  if  he 


That  was  all.  Not  a  word  about  Lyn.  The 
stiff-necked  devil ! 

"You  know  what  this  is,  don't  you?"  I  said  to 
Bat.    "How  the  dickens  did  he  manage  it?" 

Bat's  grin  became  even  more  expansive.  "There 
ain't  a  buck  trooper  on  the  job,"  he  replied,  "that 
wouldn't  help  Mac  if  he  got  half  a  show;  he's  a 
white  man.  It's  easy  for  a  prisoner  t'  slip  a  note 
to  a  friend  that  happens  t'  be  mountin'  guard.  He 
sent  it  t'  me  because  I'd  be  apt  t'  know  where  yuh 
was.    Sahef' 

I  did.  Mac's  suggestion  was  right  in  line  with 
my  own  idea.  Lessard  could  scarcely  refuse  to  do 
that  much,  I  thought;  and  it  would  be  rather  un- 
healthy for  those  prairie  pirates  to  match  themselves 
against  a  bunch  of  Mounted  Policemen  who  were 
on  their  guard — provided  we  found  anything  that 
was  worth  fighting  over. 

A  little  later  Bat  spread  a  bed  for  me  on  the 


RAW  GOLD  111 


kitchen  floor,  and  I  turned  in.  But  my  sleep  re- 
solved itself  into  a  series  of  cat-naps.  When  the 
first  sunbeam  gleamed  through  the  window  of  Bat's 
tiny  kitchen,  I  arose,  pulled  on  my  boots  and  went 
to  feed  my  horse.  And  when  we  had  eaten  break- 
fast I  headed  straight  for  Lessard's  private  quar- 
ters. I  expected  he  would  object  to  talking  business 
out  of  business  hours,  but  I  didn't  care ;  I  wanted  to 
know  what  he  was  going  to  do,  before  I  started  on 
that  three-day  trip.  Fortunately  Lessard  was  an 
early  bird,  like  myself.  I  met  him  striding  toward 
the  building  that  seemed  to  be  a  clearing  house  for 
the  oflicial  contingent. 

"Good-morning,  major,"  I  said,  mustering  up  a 
semblance  of  heartiness  that  was  far  from  being  the 
genuine  article — I  didn't  like  the  man  and  it  galled 
me  to  ask  anything  of  him.  ''I  want  to  ask  you 
something  before  I  leave.  Have  you  talked  this 
affair  over  with  Miss  Rowan?" 

"Yes.  Why?"  He  was  maddeningly  curt,  but  I 
pocketed  my  feelings  and  persisted. 

"Then  you  must  know  beyond  a  doubt  that  there 


112  RAW  GOLD 


was  some  truth  in  Rutter's  story,"  I  declared. 
"Hank  Rowan  was  my  friend.  I'd  go  out  of  my 
way  any  time  to  help  his  daughter.  Will  you  send 
four  or  five  of  your  men  with  me  to  the  Writing- 
Stone  to  look  for  that  stuff?"  I  asked  him  point- 
blank. 

He  looked  me  up  and  down  curiously,  and  did 
not  answer  for  a  minute.  "How  do  you  know 
where  to  look  ?"  he  suddenly  demanded.  "Writing- 
Stone  ridge  is  ten  miles  long.  What  chance  would 
you  have  of  finding  anything  in  a  territory  of  that 
extent?"  His  cold  eyes  rested  on  me  in  a  disagree- 
able way.  "I  thought  Rutter  died  before  giving 
you  the  exact  location." 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  MacRae,  in  detailing  the 
lurid  happenings  of  that  night,  did  not  repeat  the 
words  Rutter  had  gasped  out  with  his  last  breath. 
He  simply  said  that  Hans  died  after  telling  us  that 
they  had  been  attacked,  and  that  the  gold  was  hid- 
den at  Writing-Stone.  And  Lessard,  as  I  said  be- 
fore, had  passed  up  the  gold  episode  at  the  time; 
all  his  concern  seemed  to  be  for  the  robbers'  appre- 


RAW  GOLD  113 


hension,  which  was  natural  enough  since  a  crime 
had  undoubtedly  been  committed  and  he  bore  the 
responsibility  of  catching  and  punishing  the  per- 
petrators. The  restoration  of  stolen  goods  was 
probably  dwarfed  in  his  mind  by  the  importance  of 
capturing  the  stealers. 

I  was  vastly  interested  in  that  phase  of  it,  too,  for 
I  realized  that  a  speedy  gathering  in  of  those  men 
of  the  mask  was  my  only  chance  to  lay  hold  of 
LaPere's  ten  thousand ;  and  I  had  a  theory  that  they 
were  hardly  the  sort  to  be  content  with  that  sum, 
and  that  Hank  Rowan's  cached  gold  would  be  an 
excellent  bait  for  them,  if  it  could  be  uncovered. 
Those  steadily  reiterated  phrases,  "raw  gold — on 
the  rock"  might  have  some  understandable  meaning 
if  one  were  on  the  spot,  but  MacRae  had  kept  that 
to  himself — and  I  wasn't  running  a  bureau  of  in- 
formation for  Lessard's  benefit.  The  Canadian 
government  might  trust  him,  but  I  wouldn't — not  if 
he  took  oath  on  a  stack  of  Bibles,  and  gave  a  cast- 
iron  bond  to  play  fair.  I  couldn't  give  any  sound 
reason  for  feeling  that  way,  beyond  the   shabby 


114  RAW  GOLD 


treatment  he'd  given  MacRae.  But  somehow  the 
man's  personality  grated  on  me.  Lessard  was  of 
the  type,  rare  enough,  that  can't  be  overlooked  if 
one  comes  in  contact  with  it ;  a  big,  dominant,  mag- 
netic brute  type  that  rouses  either  admiration  or 
resentment  in  other  ordinary  mortals ;  the  kind  of  a 
man  that  women  become  fascinated  with,  and  other 
men  invariably  hate — and  sometimes  fear.  I  didn't 
stop  to  analyze  my  feeling  toward  him,  just  then; 
but  I  had  the  impulse  to  keep  what  little  I  knew  to 
myself,  and  I  obeyed  the  promptings  of  the  sixth 
sense. 

*'He  did,"  I  answered.  "But  we  can  take  a 
chance.  Send  men  that  know  the  country.  Lyn 
Rowan's  kinfolk  are  few  and  far  between,  now; 
that  gold  means^a  good  deal  to  her,  in  her  present 
circumstances." 

"H — m-m."  He  mused  a  few  seconds.  Then: 
"If  I  think  there's  any  possibility  of  finding  it — 
well,  I'll  see  what  can  be  done,  after  those  bodies 
are  brought  in.  You,  I  suppose,  are  ready  to 
start?" 


RAW  GOLD  115 


I  nodded. 

"Sergeant  Goodell  is  in  charge  of  the  detail. 
You'll  probably  find  him  about  to  go.    That's  all." 

It  was  like  being  dismissed  from  parade ;  a  right- 
about-face, march!  command  straight  from  the 
shoulder.  Again  I  was  overwhelmed  with  thank- 
fulness that  the  N.  W.  M.  P.  had  no  string  on  me ; 
I  never  took  orders  from  anybody  in  that  tone  of 
voice,  and  I  wanted  to  shake  a  defiant  fist  under 
the  autocratic  major's  nose  and  tell  him  so.  I  had 
sense  enough  to  see  that  the  time  and  place  was 
unpropitious  for  starting  an  argument  of  that  sort, 
so  I  kept  an  unperturbed  front  and  went  about  my 
business. 


V 


CHAPTER  X. 

THE  VANISHING  ACT,  AND  THE  FRUITS  THEREOF. 

BEING  aware  that  it  was  near  the  time  Goodell 
had  named  for  starting,  I  returned  to  the  sta- 
bles, and,  getting  my  horse,  rode  to  the  com- 
missary. There  I  found  Goodell  engineering  the 
final  preparations.  Four  men,  besides  myself,  made 
up  the  party :  the  sergeant.  Hicks  the  hairy-wristed, 
another  private,  and  a  half-breed  scout.  They  were 
lashing  an  allowance  of  food  and  blankets  on  a 
pack-horse,  and  two  other  horses  with  bare  aparejos 
on  their  backs  were  tied  to  the  horn  of  the  breed's 
saddle — for  what  purpose  I  could  easily  guess. 

While  I  sat  on  my  cahallo  waiting  for  them  to  tie 
the  last  hitch  a  rattle  of  wheels  and  the  thud  of 
hoofs  drew  near,  and  presently  a  blue  wagon,  drawn 
by  four  big  mules  and  flanked  by  half  a  dozen 
Mounted  Policemen,  passed  by  the  commissary 
building.     The  little  cavalcade  struck  a  swinging 


RAW  GOLD  117 


trot  as  it  cleared  the  barracks,  swung  down  into  the 
bed  of  Battle  Creek,  up  the  farther  bank,  and  away 
to  the  west.  And  a  little  later  we,  too,  left  the  post, 
following  in  the  dusty  wake  of  the  paymaster's 
wagon  and  its  mounted  escort. 

For  ten  or  twelve  miles  we  kept  to  the  MacLeod 
trail  at  an  easy  pace,  never  more  than  a  mile  behind 
the  "transient  treasury,"  as  Goodell  facetiously 
termed  it.  He  was  a  pretty  bright  sort,  that  same 
Goodell,  quick-witted,  nimble  of  tongue  above  the 
average  Englishman.  I  don't  know  that  he  was 
English;  for  that  matter,  none  of  the  three  carried 
the  stamp  of  his  nationality  on  his  face  or  in  his 
speech.  They  were  men  of  white  blood,  but  they 
might  have  been  English,  Irish,  Scotch  or  Dutch 
for  all  I  could  tell  to  the  contrary.  But  each  of 
them  was  broke  to  the  frontier;  that  showed  in  the 
way  they  sat  their  horses,  the  way  they  bore  them- 
selves toward  one  another  when  clear  of  the  post 
and  its  atmosphere  of  rigidly  enforced  discipline. 
iThe  breed  I  didn't  take  much  notice  of  at  the  time, 
except  that  when  he  spoke,  which  was  seldom,  he 


118  RAW  GOLD 


was  given  to  using  better  language  than  lots  of 
white  men  I  have  known. 

At  a  point  where  the  trail  seemed  to  bear  north 
a  few  degrees,  Goodell  angled  away  from  the  beaten 
track  and  headed  straight  across  country  for  Pend 
d'  Oreille.  At  noon  we  camped,  and  cooked  a  bite 
of  dinner  while  the  horses  grazed;  ate  it,  and  went 
on  again. 

About  three  o'clock,  as  nearly  as  I  could  tell, 
we  dipped  into  a  wooded  creek  bottom  some  two 
hundred  yards  in  width.  The  creek  itself  went 
brawling  along  in  a  deep-worn  channel,  and  when 
my  horse  got  knee  deep  in  the  water  he  promptly 
stopped  and  plunged  his  muzzle  into  the  stream. 
I  gave  him  slack  rein,  and  let  him  drink  his  fill. 
The  others  kept  on,  climbed  the  short,  steep  bank, 
and  passed  from  sight  over  its  rim.  I  swung  down 
from  my  horse  on  the  brink  of  the  creek,  cinched 
the  saddle  afresh,  and  rolled  a  cigarette.  If  I 
thought  about  them  getting  the  start  of  me  at  all, 
it  was  to  reflect  that  they  couldn't  get  a  lead  of 
more  than  two  or  three  hundred  yards,  at  the  gait 


RAW  GOLD  119 


they  traveled.  Judge  then  of  my  surprise  when  I 
rode  up  out  of  the  water-washed  gully  and  found 
them  nowhere  in  sight.  I  pulled  up  and  glanced 
about,  but  the  clumps  of  scrubby  timber  were  just 
plentiful  enough  to  cut  off  a  clear  view  of  the  flat. 
So  I  fell  back  on  the  simple  methods  of  the  plains- 
man and  Indian  and  jogged  along  on  their  trail 

Not  for  many  days  did  I  learn  truly  how  I  came 
to  miss  them,  how  and  why  they  had  vanished  from 
the  face  of  the  earth  so  completely  in  the  few  min- 
utes I  lingered  in  the  gulch.  The  print  of  steel- 
rimmed  hoofs  showed  in  the  soft  loam  as  plainly  as 
a  moccasin-track  in  virgin  snow.  Around  a  grove 
of  quaking-aspens,  eternally  shivering  in  the  deadest 
of  calms,  their  trail  led  through  the  long  grass  that 
carpeted  the  bottom,  and  suddenly  ended  in  a  strip 
of  gravelly  land  that  ran  out  from  the  bed  of  the 
creek.  I  could  follow  it  no  farther.  If  there  was 
other  mark  of  their  passing,  it  was  hidden  from 
me. 

Wondering,  and  a  bit  exasperated,  I  spurred 
Straight  up  the  bank,  and  when  I  had  reached  the 


120  RAW  GOLD 


high  benchland  loped  to  a  point  that  overlooked  the 
little  valley  a  full  mile  up  and  down.  Cottonwood 
and  willow,  cut-bank  and  crooning  water,  lay  green 
and  brown  and  silver-white  before,  but  no  riders, 
no  thing  that  moved  in  the  shape  of  men  came 
within  the  scope  of  my  eyes.  But  I  wasn't  done 
yet.  I  turned  away  from  the  bank  and  raced  up  a 
long  slope  to  a  saw-backed  ridge  that  promised 
largely  of  unobstructed  view.  Dirty  gray  lather 
stood  out  in  spumy  rolls  around  the  edge  of  the 
saddle-blanket,  and  the  wet  flanks  of  my  horse 
heaved  like  the  shoulders  of  a  sobbing  woman  when 
I  checked  him  on  top  of  a  bald  sandstone  peak — 
and  though  as  much  of  the  Northwest  as  one  man's 
eye  may  hope  to  cover  lay  bared  on  every  hand, 
yet  the  quartet  that  rode  with  me  from  Fort  Walsh 
occupied  no  part  of  the  landscape.  I  could  look 
away  to  the  horizon  in  every  direction,  and,  except 
for  one  little  herd  of  buffalo  feeding  peacefully  on 
the  westward  slant  of  the  ridge,  I  could  see  nothing 
but  rolling  prairie,  a  vast  undulating  spread  of 
grassland  threaded  here  and  there  with  darker  lines 


RAW  GOLD  121 


that  stood  for  creeks  and  coulees,  and  off  to  the 
north  the  blue  bulk  of  the  Cypress  Hills. 

I  got  off  and  sat  me  down  upon  a  rock,  rolled 
another  cigarette,  and  waited.  The  way  to  Pend  d* 
Oreille  led  over  the  ridge,  a  half  mile  on  either  side 
of  me,  as  the  spirit  moved  a  traveler  who  followed 
an  approximately  straight  line.  Whatever  road  they 
had  taken,  they  could  not  be  more  than  three  or 
four  miles  from  that  sentinel  peak — for  there  is  a 
well-defined  limit  to  the  distance  a  mounted  man 
may  cover  in  a  given  length  of  time.  And  from 
my  roost  I  could  note  the  passing  of  anything 
bigger  than  a  buffalo  yearling,  within  a  radius  of 
at  least  six  miles.  Therefore,  I  smoked  my  ciga- 
rette without  misgiving,  and  kept  close  watch  for 
bobbing  black  dots  against  the  far-flung  green. 

I  might  as  well  have  laid  down  and  gone  to  sleep 
on  that  pinnacle  for  all  the  good  my  waiting  and 
eye-straining  did  me.  One  hour  slipped  by  and  then 
another,  and  still  I  did  not  abandon  hope  of  their 
appearance.  Naturally,  I  argued  with  myself,  they 
would  turn  back  when  I  failed  to  overtake  them — ? 


•122  RAW  GOLD 


especially  if  they  had  thoughtlessly  followed  some 
depression  in  the  prairie  where  I  could  not  easily 
see  them.  And  while  I  lingered,  loath  to  believe 
that  they  were  hammering  unconcernedly  on  their 
way,  the  sun  slid  down  its  path  in  the  western  sky 
■ — slid  down  till  its  lower  edge  rested  on  the  rim 
of  the  world  and  long  black  shadows  began  to  creep 
mysteriously  out  of  the  low  places,  while  buttes  and 
ridges  gleamed  with  cloth  of  gold,  the  benediction 
of  a  dying  day.  Only  then  did  I  own  that  by  hook 
or  by  crook — and  mostly  by  crook,  I  was  forced  to 
suspect — they  had  purposely  given  me  the  slip. 

A  seasoned  cowpuncher  hates  to  admit  that  any 
man,  or  bunch  of  men,  can  take  him  out  into  an 
open  country  and  shake  him  off  whenever  it  is  de- 
sired; but  if  I  had  been  a  rank  tenderfoot  they 
couldn't  have  jarred  me  loose  with  greater  ease. 
It  was  smooth  work,  and  I  couldn't  guess  the  object, 
unless  it  was  a  Mounted  Policeman's  idea  of  an 
excellent  practical  joke  on  a  supposedly  capable  citi- 
zen from  over  the  line.  Anyway,  they  had  left  me 
holding  the  sack  in  a  mighty  poor  snipe  country. 


RAW  GOLD  123 


Dark  was  close  at  hand,  and  I  was  a  long  way  from 
shelter.  So  when  the  creeping  shadows  blanketed 
pinnacle  and  lowland  alike,  and  all  that  remained  of 
the  sun  was  the  flamboyant  crimson-yellow  on  the 
gathering  clouds,  I  was  astride  of  my  dun  caballo 
and  heading  for  Pend  d'  Oreille. 

But  speedily  another  unforeseen  complication 
arose.  Before  I'd  gone  five  miles  the  hoodoo  that 
had  been  working  overtime  on  my  behalf  got  busy 
again.  The  clouds  that  were  rolling  up  from  the 
east  at  sundown  piled  thick  and  black  overhead,  and 
when  dark  was  fairly  upon  me  I  was,  for  all  prac- 
tical purposes,  like  a  blind  man  in  an  unfamiliar 
room.  It  didn't  take  me  long  to  comprehend  that 
I  was  merely  wasting  the  strength  of  my  horse  in 
bootless  wandering;  with  moonlight  I  could  have 
made  it,  but  in  that  murk  I  could  not  hope  to  find 
the  post.  So  I  had  no  choice  but  to  make  camp  in 
the  first  coulee  that  offered,  and  an  exceeding  lean 
camp  I  found  it — no  grub,  no  fire,  no  rest,  for 
though  I  hobbled  my  horse  I  didn't  dare  let  his  rope 
out  of  my  hands. 


124  RAW  GOLD 


About  midnight  the  combination  of  sultry  heat 
and  banked  clouds  produced  the  usual  results. 
Lightning  first,  lightning  that  ripped  the  sky  open 
from  top  to  bottom  in  great  blazing  slits,  and  thun- 
der that  cracked  and  boomed  and  rumbled  in  sharps 
and  flats  and  naturals  till  a  man  could  scarcely  hear 
himself  think;  then  rain  in  flat  chunks,  as  if  some 
malignant  agency  had  yanked  the  bottom  out  of 
the  sky  and  let  the  accumulated  moisture  of  cen- 
turies drop  on  that  particular  portion  of  the  North- 
west. In  fifteen  minutes  the  only  dry  part  of  me 
was  the  crown  of  my  head — thanks  be  to  a  good 
Stetson  hat.  And  my  arms  ached  from  the  strain 
of  hanging  onto  my  horse,  for,  hobbled  as  he  was, 
he  did  his  best  to  get  up  and  quit  Canada  in  a 
gallop  when  the  fireworks  began.  To  make  it  even 
more  pleasant,  when  the  clouds  fell  apart  and  the 
little  stars  came  blinking  out  one  by  one,  a  chill 
wind  whistled  up  on  the  heels  of  the  storm,  and  I 
spent  the  rest  of  that  night  shivering  forlornly  in 
my  clammy  clothes. 
( -,   Still  a-shiver  at  dawn,  I  saddled  up  and  loped  for 


RAW  GOLD  125 


the  crest  of  the  nearest  divide  to  get  the  benefit  of 
the  first  sun-rays.  But  alas!  the  hoodoo  was  still 
plodding  diligently  on  my  trail.  I  topped  a  little 
rise,  and  almost  rode  plump  into  the  hostile  arms 
of  a  half-dozen  breechclout  warriors  coming  up  the 
other  side.  I  think  there  were  about  half  a  dozen, 
but  I  wouldn't  swear  to  it.  I  hadn't  the  time  nor 
inclination  to  make  an  exact  count.  The  general 
ensemble  of  war-paint  and  spotted  ponies  was 
enough  for  me ;  I  didn't  need  to  be  told  that  it  was 
my  move.  My  spurs  fairly  lifted  the  dun  horse, 
and  we  scuttled  in  the  opposite  direction  like  a 
scared  antelope.  The  fact  that  the  average  Indian 
is  not  a  master  hand  with  a  gun  except  at  short 
range  was  my  salvation.  If  they'd  been  white  men 
I  would  probably  have  been  curled  in  a  neat  heap 
within  two  hundred  yards.  As  it  was,  they  shot 
altogether  too  close  for  comfort,  and  the  series  of 
yells  they  turned  loose  in  that  peaceful  atmosphere 
made  me  feel  that  I  was  due  to  be  forcibly  separated 
'from  the  natural  covering  of  my  cranium  if  I  lost 
any  time  in  getting  out  of  their  sphere  of  influence. 


126  RAW  GOLD 


The  persistent  beggars  chased  me  a  good  ten 
miles  before  they  drew  up,  concluding,  I  suppose, 
that  I  was  too  well  mounted  for  them  to  overhaul. 
But  it  might  have  been  a  lot  worse;  I  still  had  my 
scalp  intact;  the  chase  and  its  natural  excitement 
had  brought  a  comfortable  wannth  to  my  chilled 
body;  and  I  had  made  good  time  in  the  direction  I 
wished  to  go.  On  the  whole,  I  felt  that  the  red 
brother  had  done  me  rather  a  good  turn.  But  I  kept 
on  high  ground,  thereafter,  where  I  could  see  a 
mile  or  two,  for  I  was  very  much  alive  to  the  fact 
that  if  another  of  those  surprise-parties  jumped  me 
now  that  my  horse  was  tired  they  would  have  a 
good  deal  of  fun  at  my  expense;  and  an  Indian's 
idea  of  fun  doesn't  coincide  with  mine — not  by  a 
long  shot ! 

I  made  some  pointed  remarks  to  my  horse  about 
Mr.  Goodell  and  his  companions,  as  I  rode  along. 
If  Pend  d'  Oreille  hadn't  been  the  nearest  place,  I'd 
have  turned  back  to  Walsh  and  made  that  bunch  of 
exhumers  come  back  after  me,  if  it  were  absolutely 
necessary  that  I  should  pilot  them  to  the  graves. 


RAW  GOLD  127 


Personally,  I  thought  those  two  old  plainsmen 
wouldn't  thank  Major  Lessard  or  any  one  else  for 
disturbing  their  last,  long  sleep ;  the  wide,  unpeopled 
prairies  had  always  been  their  choice  in  life,  and 
I  felt  that  they  would  rather  be  laid  away  in  some 
quiet  coulee,  than  in  any  conventional  "city  of  the 
dead"  with  prim  headstones  and  iron  fences  to  shut 
them  in.  A  Western  man  likes  lots  of  room;  dead 
or  alive,  it  irks  him  to  be  crowded. 

I  fully  expected  to  find  the  four  waiting  for  me 
at  Pend  d'  Oreille,  and  I  was  prepared  to  hear  a 
good  deal  of  chaffing  about  getting  lost.  What  of 
my  waiting  on  the  ridge  that  afternoon,  and  bearing 
more  or  less  away  from  the  proper  direction  at 
night,  I  did  not  reach  the  post  till  noon ;  and  I  was 
a  bit  puzzled  to  find  only  the  men  who  were  on  duty 
there.  I  was  digesting  this  along  with  the  remains 
of  the  troopers'  dinner,  when  Goodell  and  his  satel- 
lites popped  over  the  hill  that  looked  down  on  Pend 
d'  Oreille,  and,  a  few  minutes  later,  came  riding 
nonchalantly  up  to  the  mess-house. 


128  RAW  GOLD 


"Well,  you  beat  us  in,"  Goodell  greeted  airily. 
"Did  you  find  a  short  cut?" 

"Sure  thing,"  I  responded,  with  what  irony  I 
could  command. 

"Where  the  deuce  did  you  go,  anyway,  after  you 
stopped  in  that  creek-bottom?"  he  asked,  eying  me 
with  much  curiosity.  "We  nearly  played  our  horses 
out  galloping  around  looking  for  you — after  we'd 
gone  a  mile  or  so,  and  you  didn't  catch  up.'* 

"Then  you  must  have  kept  damned  close  to  the 
coulee-bottoms,"  I  retorted  ungraciously,  "for  I 
burnt  the  earth  getting  up  on  a  pinnacle  where  you 
could  see  me,  before  you  had  time  to  go  very  far." 

"Oh,  well,  it's  easy  to  lose  track  of  a  lone  man  in 
a  country  as  big  as  this,"  he  returned  suavely.  "We 
all  got  here,  so  what's  the  odds  ?  I  guess  we'll  sticlc 
here  till  morning.  We  can't  make  the  round  trip 
this  afternoon,  and  I'm  not  camping  on  the  hills 
when  it's  avoidable." 

It  struck  me  that  he  was  uncommonly  philosophi- 
cal about  it,  so  I  merely  grunted  and  went  on  with 
my  dinner. 


RAW  GOLD  129 


That  evening,  when  we  went  to  the  stable  to  fix 
up  our  horses  for  the  night,  I  got  a  clearer  insight 
into  his  reason  for  laying  over  that  afternoon.  They 
had  been  doing  some  tall  riding,  and  their  livestock 

was  simply  unfit  to  go  farther.  The  four  saddle- 
horses  looked  as  if  they  had  been  dragged  through 
a  small-sized  knothole;  their  gauntness,  and  the 
dispirited  droop  of  their  heads,  spelled  complete 
fatigue  to  any  man  who  knew  the  symptoms  of 
hard  riding.  By  comparison,  my  sweat-grimed  dun 
was  fresh  as  a  morning  breeze. 


CHAPTER  XL 

THE   GENTLEMAN   WHO   RODE   IN   THE  LEAD. 

IT  took  US  all  of  the  next  day  to  make  the  trip  to 
Stony  Crossing  and  back  by  way  of  the  place 
where  Rutter  was  buried.  Goodell  had  no 
fancy,  he  said,  for  a  night  camp  on  the  prairie  when 
it  could  be  avoided.  He  planned  to  make  an  early 
start  from  Pend  d'  Oreille,  and  thus  reach  WalsH 
by  riding  late  the  next  night.  So,  well  toward  eve- 
ning, we  swung  back  to  the  river  post.  Goodell  and 
his  fellows  were  nowise  troubled  by  the  presence  of 
dead  men;  they  might  have  been  packing  so  much 
merchandise,  from  their  demeanor.  But  I  was  a 
long  way  from  feeling  cheerful.  The  ghastly  bur- 
dens, borne  none  too  willingly  by  the  extra  horses, 
put  a  damper  on  me,  and  I'm  a  pretty  sanguine  in- 
dividual as  a  rule. 

When  we  had  unloaded  the  bodies  from  the  un- 
easy horses,  and  laid  them  carefully  in  a  lean-to  at 


RAW  GOLD  1311 


the  stable-end,  we  led  our  mounts  inside.  Goodell 
paused  in  the  doorway  and  emitted  a  whistle  of  sur- 
prise at  sight  of  a  horse  in  one  of  the  stalls.  I 
looked  over  his  shoulder  and  recognized  at  a  glance 
the  rangy  black  MacRae  had  ridden. 

"They  must  have  given  Mac's  horse  to  another 
trooper,"  I  hazarded. 

"Not  that  you  could  notice,"  Goodell  replied, 
going  on  in.  "They  don't  switch  mounts  in  the 
Force.  If  they  have  now,  it's  the  first  time  to  my 
knowledge.  When  a  man's  in  clink,  his  nag  gets 
nothing  but  mild  exercise  till  his  rightful  rider  gets 
out.  And  MacRae  got  thirty  days.  Well,  we'll 
soon  find  out  who  rode  him  in." 

I  pulled  the  saddle  off  my  horse,  slapped  it  down 
on  the  dirt  floor,  and  went  stalking  up  to  the  long 
cabin.  The  first  man  m.y  eyes  lighted  upon  as  I 
stepped  inside  was  MacRae,  humped  disconsolately 
on  the  edge  of  a  bunk.  I  was  mighty  glad  to  see 
him,  but  I  hadn't  time  to  more  than  say  "hello" 
before  Goodell  and  the  others  came  in.  Mac  drew 
a  letter  from  his  pocket  and  handed  it  to  Goodell. 


132  RAW  GOLD 


He  glanced  quickly  through  it,  then  swept  the 
rest  of  us  with  a  quizzical  smile.  **By  Jove!  you 
must  have  a  pull  with  the  old  man,  Mac,"  he  said 
to  MacRae.  "I  suppose  you  know  what's  in  this 
epistle?" 

"Partly."  Mac  answered  as  though  it  were  no 
particular  concern  of  his. 

"I'm  to  turn  Hicks  and  Gregory  over  to  you," 
he  read  the  note  again  to  be  sure  of  his  words,  "see 
that  you  get  a  week's  supply  of  grub  here,  and  then 
leave  you  to  your  own  devices.  What's  the  excite- 
ment, now?  Piegans  on  the  war-path?  Bull-train 
missing,  or  whisky-runners  getting  too  fresh,  or 
what?  My  word,  the  major  has  certainly  estab- 
lished a  precedent;  you're  the  first  man  I've  known 
that  got  thirty  days  in  clink  and  didn't  have  to  serve 
it  to  the  last,  least  minute.  How  the  deuce  did  you 
manage  it  ?  Put  me  on,  like  a  good  fellow — I  might 
want  to  get  a  sentence  suspended  some  day.  Any 
of  us  are  liable  to  get  it,  y'know."  Goodell's  tone 
was  full  of  gentle  raillery. 


RAW  GOLD  133 


"The  high  and  mighty  sent  me  out  to  lead  a  for- 
lorn hope,"  Mac  dryly  responded.  "Does  that  look 
like  a  suspended  sentence?"  He  turned  his  arm  so 
that  we  could  see  the  ripped  stitching  where  his 
sergeant's  stripes  had  been  cut  away. 

"Tough — but  most  of  us  have  been  there,  one 
time  or  another,"  Goodell  observed  sympathetically; 
and  with  that  the  subject  rested. 

Though  I  was  burning  to  know  things,  we  hadn't 
the  least  chance  to  talk  that  evening.  Nine  lusty- 
lunged  adults  in  that  one  room  prohibited  confi- 
dential speech.  Not  till  next  morning,  when  we 
rode  away  from  Pend  d'  Oreille  with  our  backs  to 
a  sun  that  was  lazily  clearing  the  hill-tops,  did  Mac- 
Rae  and  I  have  an  opportunity  to  unburden  our 
souls.  When  we  were  fairly  under  way  in  the  di- 
rection of  Writing- Stone,  Hicks  and  Gregory — the 
breed  scout — lagged  fifty  or  sixty  yards  behind,  and 
MacRae  turned  in  his  saddle  and  gave  me  a  queer 
sort  of  look. 

"I  wasn't  joking  last  night  when  I  told  Goodell 
that  this  was  something  of  a  forlorn  hope,"  he  said. 


134  RAW  GOLD 


"Are  you  ready  to  take  a  chance  on  getting  your 
throat  cut  or  being  shot  in  the  back,  Sarge  ?" 

I  stared  at  him  a  second.  It  was  certainly  an  as- 
tounding question,  coming  from  that  source — more 
like  the  language  of  the  villain  in  a  howling  melo- 
drama than  a  cold-blooded  inquiry  that  called  for  a 
serious  answer.  But  he  was  looking  at  me  soberly 
enough ;  and  he  wasn't  in  the  habit  of  saying  start- 
ling things,  unless  there  was  a  fairly  solid  basis  of 
truth  in  them.  He  was  the  last  man  in  the  world 
to  accuse  of  saying  or  doing  anything  merely  for 
the  sake  of  effect. 

"That  depends,"  I  returned.     "Why?" 

"Because  if  we  find  what  we're  going  after  that's 
the  sort  of  formation  we  may  have  to  buck  against 
until  we  get  that  stuff  to  Walsh,"  he  replied  coolly. 
"Beautiful  prospect,  eh?  I  reckon  you'll  under- 
stand better  if  I  tell  you  how  it  came  about. 

"The  day  you  left,  Lessard  had  me  up  on  the 
carpet  again.  When  he  got  through  cross-question- 
ing me,  he  considered  a  while,  and  finally  said  that 
tinder    the    circumstances  he  felt  that  losing  my 


RAW  GOLD  135 


stripes  would  be  punishment  enough  for  the  rank 
insubordination  I'd  been  guilty  of,  and  he  would 
therefore  revoke  the  thirty-day  sentence.  I  pricked 
up  my  ears  at  that,  I  can  tell  you,  because  Lessard 
isn't  built  that  way  at  all.  When  a  man  talks  to 
any  officer  the  way  I  did  to  him,  he  gets  all  that's 
coming,  and  then  some  for  good  measure.  I  began 
to  see  light  pretty  quick,  though.  He  went  on  to 
say  that  he  had  spoken  to  Miss  Rowan  about  her 
father,  and  had  learned  that  without  doubt  those 
two  old  fellows  were  headed  this  way  with  between 
forty  and  fifty  thousand  dollars  in  gold-dust,  that 
they'd  washed  on  Peace  River.  Since  I'd  been  on 
the  spot  when  Rutter  died,  and  knew  the  Writing- 
Stone  country  so  well,  he  thought  I  would  stand 
a  better  show  of  finding  their  cache  than  any  one 
else  he  could  send  out.  He  wanted  to  recover  that 
stuff  for  Miss  Rowan,  if  it  were  possible.  So  he 
wrote  that  order  to  Goodell  and  started  me  out  to 
join  you — with  a  warning  to  keep  our  eyes  open, 
for  undoubtedly  the  men  who  killed  Rutter  and 


136  RAW  GOLD 


held  you  up  would  be  watching  for  a  chance  at  us 
if  we  found  that  gold." 

"Very  acute  reasoning  on  his  part,  Tm  sure,"  I 
interrupted.  "We  knew  that  without  his  telling. 
And  if  he  thinks  those  fellows  are  hanging  about 
waiting  for  a  whack  at  that  dust,  why  doesn't  he 
get  out  with  a  bunch  of  his  troopers  and  round  them 
up?" 

"That's  what,"  Mac  grinned.  "But  wait  a  min- 
ute. This  was  about  three  in  the  afternoon,  and 
he  ordered  me  to  start  at  once  so  as  to  catch  you 
fellows  as  soon  as  possible.  I  started  a  few  minutes 
after  three.  You  remember  the  paymaster's  train 
left  that  morning.  He  had  a  mounted  escort  of 
six  or  seven  besides  his  teamster.  The  MacLeod 
trail  runs  less  than  twenty  miles  north  of  here,  you 
know.  I  followed  it,  knowing  about  where  they'd 
camp  for  the  night,  thinking  I'd  make  their  outfit 
and  get  something  to  eat  and  a  chance  to  sleep  an 
hour  or  two ;  then  I  could  come  on  here  early  in  the 
morning.  I  got  to  the  place  where  I  had  figured 
they  would  stop,  about  eleven  o'clock,  but  they  had 


RAW  GOLD  137 


made  better  time  than  usual  and  gone  farther,  so  I 
quit  the  trail  and  struck  across  the  hills,  for  I  didn't 
want  to  ride  too  far  out  of  my  way.  When  I  got 
on  top  of  the  first  divide  I  ran  onto  a  little  spring 
and  stopped  to  water  my  horse  and  let  him  pick  a 
bit  of  grass;  I'd  been  riding  eight  hours,  and  still 
had  quite  a  jaunt  to  make.  I  must  have  been  about 
three  miles  south  of  the  trail  then. 

He  stopped  to  light  the  cigarette  he  had  rolled 
while  he  talked,  and  I  kept  still,  wondering  what 
would  come  next.  MacRae  wasn't  the  man  to  go 
into  detail  like  that  unless  he  had  something  im- 
portant to  bring  out. 

"I  sat  there  about  an  hour,  I  reckon,"  he  con- 
tinued. *'By  that  time  it  was  darker  than  a  stack 
of  black  cats,  and  fixing  to  storm.  I  thought  I 
might  as  well  be  moving  as  sit  there  and  get  soaked 
to  the  hide.  While  I  was  tinkering  with  the  cinch  I 
thought  I  heard  a  couple  of  shots.  Of  course,  I 
craned  my  neck  to  listen,  and  in  a  second  a  regular 
fusillade  broke  out — away  off,  you  know ;  about  like 
a  stick  of  dry  wood  crackling  in  the  stove  when 


138  RAW  GOLD 


you're  outside  the  cabin.  I  loped  out  of  the  hollow 
by  the  spring  and  looked  down  toward  the  trail. 
The  red  flashes  were  breaking  out  like  a  bunch  of 
firecrackers,  and  with  pretty  much  the  same  sound. 
It  didn't  last  long — a  minute  or  so,  maybe.  I  lis- 
tened for  a  while,  but^there  was  nothing  to  be  seen 
and  I  heard  no  more  shooting.  Now,  I  knew  the 
pay-wagon  was  somewhere  on  that  road,  and  it 
struck  me  that  the  bunch  that  got  Hans  and  Rowan 
and  held  us  up  might  have  tried  the  same  game  on 
it;  and  from  the  noise  I  judged  it  hadn't  been  a 
walkaway.  It  was  a  wild  guess;  but  I  thought  I 
ought  to  go  down  and  see,  anyway.  Single-handed, 
and  in  that  dark  you  could  almost  feel,  I  knew  I 
was  able  to  sidestep  the  trouble,  if  it  should  be  In- 
dians or  anything  I  didn't  care  to  get  mixed  up  in. 

"I'd  gone  about  a  mile  down  the  slope  when  the 
lightning  began  to  tear  the  sky  open.  In  five  min- 
utes the  worst  of  it  was  right  over  me,  and  one  flash 
came  on  top  of  the  other  so  fast  it  was  like  a  big 
eye  winking  through  the  clouds.  One  second  the 
hills  and  coulees  would  show  plain  as  day,  and  next 


RAW  GOLD  139 


you'd  have  to  feel  to  find  the  ears  of  your  horse. 
I  pulled  up,  for  I  didn't  care  to  go  down  there  with 
all  that  lightning-play  to  make  a  shining  mark  of 
me,  and  while  I  sat  there  wondering  how  long  it 
was  going  to  last,  a  long,  sizzling  streak  went  zig- 
zagging up  out  of  the  north  and  another  out  of  the 
east,  and  when  they  met  overhead  and  the  white 
glare  spread  over  the  clouds,  it  was  like  the  sun 
breaking  out  over  the  whole  country.  It  lit  up  every 
ridge  and  hollow  for  two  or  three  seconds,  and 
showed  me  four  riders  tearing  up  the  slope  at  a 
high  run.  I  don't  think  they  saw  me  at  all,  for 
they  passed  me,  in  the  dark  that  shut  down  after 
that  flash  of  lightning,  so  close  that  I  could  hear  the 
pat-a-pat  of  the  hoofs.  And  when  the  next  flash 
came  they  were  out  of  sight. 

"Right  after  that  the  rain  hit  me  like  a  cloud- 
burst. That  was  over  quick,  and  by  the  time  it  had 
settled  to  a  drizzle  I  was  down  in  the  paymaster's 
camp.  Things  were  sure  in  an  uproar  there.  Two 
men  killed,  two  more  crippled,  and  the  paymaster 
raving  like  a  maniac.     I  hadn't  been  far  wide  of 


140  RAW  GOLD 


the  mark.  The  men  that  passed  me  on  the  ridge 
had  held  up  the  outfit — and  looted  fifty  thousand 
dollars  in  cold  cash." 

"Fifty  thousand— the  devil!"  I  broke  in.  "And 
they  got  away  with  it  ?" 

"With  all  the  ease  in  the  world,"  MacRae  an- 
swered calmly.  "They  made  a  sneak  on  the  camp 
in  the  dark,  clubbed  both  sentries,  and  had  their 
guns  on  the  rest  before  they  knew  what  was  wrong. 
They  got  the  money,  and  every  horse  in  camp.  The 
shooting  I  heard  came  ofiF  as  they  started  away  with 
the  plunder.  Some  of  the  troopers  grabbed  up  their 
guns  and  cut  loose  at  random,  and  these  hold-up 
people  returned  the  compliment  with  deadly  ef- 
fect. 

"That  isn't  all,"  he  continued  moodily.  "I  stayed 
there  till  daylight,  and  then  gathered  up  their  stock. 
All  the  thieves  wanted  of  the  horses  was  to  set  the 
outfit  afoot  for  the  time  being — a  trick  which  bears 
the  earmarks  of  the  bunch  that  got  in  their  work 
on  us.  They  had  turned  the  horses  loose  a  mile  or 
so  away,  and  I  found  them  grazing  together.    When 


RAW  GOLD  141 


I'd  brought  them  in  I  got  a  bite  to  eat  and  came 
on  about  my  own  business. 

"Up  on  the  ridge,  close  by  the  spring  I  had 
stopped  at,  I  came  slap  on  their  track;  the  four 
horses  had  pounded  a  trail  in  the  wet  sod  that  a 
kid  could  follow.  I  tore  back  to  the  paymaster's 
camp  and  begged  him  to  get  his  men  mounted  and 
we  would  follow  it  up.  But  he  wouldn't  listen  to 
such  a  thing.  I  don't  know  why,  unless  he  had 
some  money  they  had  overlooked  and  was  afraid 
they  might  come  back  for  another  try  at  him.  So 
I  went  back  and  hit  the  trail  alone.  It  led  south 
for  a  while,  and  then  east  to  Sage  Creek.  This  was 
day  before  yesterday,  you  sabe.  Near  noon  I  found 
a  place  where  they'd  cached  two  extra  horses  in  the 
brush  on  Sage  Creek.  After  that  their  track  turned 
straight  west  again,  and  it  was  hard  to  follow,  for 
the  ground  was  drying  fast.  Finally  I  had  to  quit— 
couldn't  make  out  hoof-marks  any  more.  And  it 
was  so  late  I  had  to  lie  out  that  night.  I  got  to 
Pend  d'  Oreille  yesterday  morning  two  or  three 
hours  after  you  fellows  left  for  the  crossing." 


142  RAW  GOLD 


I  haven't  quite  got  a  gambler's  faith  in  a  hunch, 
or  presentiment,  or  intuitive  conclusion — whatever 
term  one  chooses  to  apply — but  from  the  moment  he 
spoke  of  seeing  four  riders  on  a  ridge  during  that 
frolic  of  the  elements,  a  crazy  idea  kept  persistently 
turning  over  and  over  in  my  mind ;  and  when  Mac 
got  that  far  I  blurted  it  out  for  what  it  was  worth, 
prefacing  it  with  the  happenings  of  the  trip  from 
Walsh  to  Pend  d'  Oreille.  He  listened  without 
manifesting  the  interest  I  looked  for,  tapping  idly 
on  the  saddle-horn,  and  staring  straight  ahead  with 
an  odd  pucker  about  his  mouth. 

"I  was  just  going  to  ask  you  if  you  all  came 
through  together,"  he  observed,  in  a  casual  tone. 
*'I  neglected  to  say  that  I  got  a  pretty  fair  look  at 
those  fellows.  In  fact,  I  wouldn't  hesitate  to  swear 
to  the  face  of  the  gentleman  who  rode  in  the  lead 
of  the  four." 

"You  did?  Was  it — was  my  hunch  right?"  I 
'demanded  eagerly. 

"I  could  turn  in  my  saddle  and  shoot  his  eye  out," 
MacRae   responded   whimsically.      "And    I    don't 


RAW  GOLD  143 


know  but  that  would  be  more  than  justice.  Of 
course,  the  others  were  the  men,  but  I'm  positive  of 
Gregory.    You  see  what  we're  up  against,  Sarge. 

"That's  why,"  he  soberly  concluded,  "I  think 
we'll  have  our  hands  full  if  we  do  locate  that  stuff. 
It's  a  big  chunk  of  money,  and  a  little  thing  like 
killing  a  man  or  two  won't  trouble  them.  We'll 
be  watched  every  minute  of  the  time  that  we  prowl 
around  those  painted  rocks;  that's  a  cinch.  And 
when  we've  pulled  the  chestnut  out  of  the  fire  they'll 
gobble  it — if  there's  the  ghost  of  a  chance." 

While  I  was  digesting  this  unpalatable  informa- 
tion, Hicks  and  Gregory  spurred  abreast  of  us;  for 
the  remainder  of  the  journey  we  four  rode  elbow  to 
elbow,  and  conversation  was  scant. 

Mid-afternoon  found  us  camped  under  the  Stone. 
Once  on  the  ground,  I  began  to  think  we  were  in  no 
immediate  danger  of  getting  our  throats  cut  for  the 
sake  of  the  treasure.  Rutter  had  said  "under  the 
Stone" — and  the  vagueness  of  his  words  came  home 
to  me  with  considerable  force,  for  the  Stone,  rough- 
ly estimated,  was  a  good  mile  in  length.    It  paral- 


144  RAW  GOLD 


leled  the  river,  a  perpendicular  wall  of  gray  sand- 
stone. An  aptly-named  place;  wherever  a  ledge 
offered  foothold,  and  even  in  places  that  seemed 
wholly  beyond  reach  of  human  hands,  the  bald  front 
of  the  cliff  was  chiseled  with  rude  traceries — the 
picture-writing  of  the  Blackfoot  tribe.  The  history 
of  a  thousand  battles  and  buffalo-hunts  was  written 
there.  And  somewhere  at  the  foot  of  that  mile-long 
cliff,  under  the  uncouth  figures  carved  by  the  red 
men  in  their  hour  of  triumphant  ease,  rested  that 
which  we  had  come  to  find.  I  sat  with  my  back 
against  a  cottonwood  and  smoked  a  cigarette  while 
I  considered  the  impassive  front  of  Writing-On- 
the-Stone;  and  the  fruit  of  my  consideration  was 
that  he  who  sought  for  the  needle  in  the  haystack 
had  no  more  difficult  task  than  ours. 

In  due  time  we  ate  supper,  and  dark  spread  its 
mantle  over  the  land.  Then  MacRae  and  I  crawled 
up  on  a  projecting  ledge  of  rock  to  roll  out  our 
blankets — in  a  place  where  we  could  not  well  be 
surprised.  Not  that  either  of  us  anticipated  any- 
thing of  the  sort  so  early  in  the  game;  when  we 


RAW  GOLD  145 


had  found  what  we  were  after,  that  would  come. 
But  the  mere  fact  that  we  were  all  playing  a  part 
made  us  incline  to  caution.  I  don't  know  if  we 
betrayed  our  knowledge  or  suspicions  to  Hicks  and 
Gregory,  but  it  was  a  good  deal  of  an  effort  to 
treat  those  red-handed  scoundrels  as  if  they  were 
legitimate  partners  in  a  risky  enterprise.  We  had 
to  do  it,  though.  Until  they  showed  their  hand  we 
could  do  nothing  but  stand  pat  and  wait  for  de- 
velopments; and  if  they  watched  us  unobtrusively, 
we  did  the  same  by  them.  It  is  not  exactly  soothing 
to  the  nerves,  however,  to  be  in  touch  all  day  and 
then  lie  down  to  sleep  at  night  within  a  few  feet 
of  men  whom  you  imagine  are  only  awaiting  the 
proper  moment  to  introduce  a  chunk  of  lead  into 
your  system  or  slip  a  knife  under  your  fifth  rib. 
I  can't  truthfully  say  that  I  slept  soundly  on  that 
ledge. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

WE   LOSE   AGAIN. 

THREE  days  later  MacRae  and  I  scaled  the 
steep  bank  at  the  west  end  of  the  cliff  and 
threw  ourselves,  panting,  on  the  level  that 
ran  up  to  the  sheer  drop-off.  When  we  had  re- 
gained the  breath  we'd  lost  on  that  Mansard-roof 
climb  we  drew  near  to  the  edge,  where  we  could 
stare  into  the  valley  three  hundred  feet  below  while 
we  made  us  a  cigarette  apiece,  We  were  just  a 
mite  discouraged.  Beginning  that  first  morning  at 
the  east  end  of  the  Writing-Stone  we  had  worked 
west,  conning  the  weather-worn  face  of  it  for  a 
mark  that  would  give  a  clue  to  the  cache.  Also  we 
had  scanned  carefully  the  sandy  soil  patches  along 
the  boulder-strewn  base,  seeking  the  tell-tale  foot- 
prints of  horse  or  man.  And  we  had  found  nothing. 
Each  day  the  conviction  grew  stronger  upon  us  that 
finding  that  gold  would  be  purely  chance,  a  miracle 
of  luck;  systematic  search  had  so  far  resulted  \ti 


RAW  GOLD  147 


nothing  but  blistered  heels  from  much  walking. 
And  unless  we  did  find  it,  thereby  giving  the  gentle- 
men of  the  mask  some  incentive  to  match  them- 
selves against  us  once  more,  we  were  not  likely 
to  have  the  opportunity  of  breaking  up  a  nervy 
bunch  of  murdering  thieves. 

We  reasoned  that  the  men  whose  guns  we  had 
looked  into  over  Rutter's  body  and  those  who 
robbed  the  paymaster  on  the  MacLeod  trail  were 
tarred  with  the  same  stick;  likewise,  that  even  now 
two  of  them  ate  out  of  the  same  pot  with  us  three 
times  daily.  The  thing  was  to  prove  it.  Person- 
ally, the  paymaster's  trouble  was  none  of  my  con- 
cern ;  what  I  wanted  was  to  get  back  that  ten  thou- 
sand dollars,  or  deal  those  hounds  ten  thousand 
dollars'  worth  of  misery.  Not  that  I  wasn't  willing 
to  take  a  long  chance  to  help  Lyn  to  her  own,  but 
I  was  human  enough  to  remember  that  I  had  a  good 
deal  at  stake  myself.  It  was  a  rather  depressed 
stock-hand,  name  of  Flood,  who  blew  cigarette 
smoke  out  over  the  brow  of  Writing-Stone  that 
evening. 


148  RAW  GOLD 


Mac  finished  smoking  and  ground  the  stub  into 
the  earth  with  his  heel.  For  another  minute  or  two 
he  sat  there  without  speaking,  absently  flipping  peb- 
bles over  the  bank. 

"I  reckon  we  might  as  well  poke  along  the  top 
to  camp,"  he  said  at  last,  getting  to  his  feet.  "I  sent 
that  breed  back,  down  there,  so  we  could  talk  with- 
out having  to  keep  cases  on  him.  This  is  beginning 
to  look  like  a  hopeless  case,  isn't  it?" 

"Somewhat,"  I  admitted.  "I  did  think  that  Rut- 
ter's  description  would  put  us  on  the  right  track 
when  we  got  there;  but  I  can't  see  much  meaning 
in  it  now.  I  suppose  we'll  just  have  to  keep  on 
going  it  blind." 

"We'll  have  to  stay  with  it  while  there's  any 
chance,"  he  said  thoughtfully.  "But  I've  been 
thinking  that  it  might  be  a  good  plan  to  take  a  fall 
out  of  those  two."  He  jerked  his  thumb  in  the 
direction  of  camp.  "If  we  have  sized  things  up 
right,  they'll  make  some  sort  of  move,  and  if  we're 
mistaken  there  will  be  no  harm  done.  I'll  tell  you 
an  idea  that  popped  into  my  head  a  minute  ago. 


RAW  GOLD  149 


We  can  pretend  to  locate  the  stuff.  Fix  up  a  couple 
of  dummy  sacks,  you  know,  and  get  them  to  camp 
and  packed  on  the  horse  without  letting  them  see 
what's  inside.  If  Lyn  gave  Lessard  the  right  fig- 
ures, there  should  be  between  a  hundred  and  forty 
or  fifty  pounds  of  dust.  It's  small  in  bulk,  but 
weighty  as  a  bad  conscience.  If  we  had  a  couple  of 
little  sacks  we  could  get  around  that  problem,  easy 
enough — this  black  sand  along  the  river  would  pass 
for  gold-dust  in  weight.  We  could  make  the  proper 
sort  of  play,  and  give  them  the  chance  they're  look- 
ing for.  If  they  make  a  break  it'll  be  up  to  us  to 
get  the  best  of  the  trouble." 

"It  might  work,"  I  replied.  "If  you  think  it 
would  make  them  tip  their  hand,  I'm  with  you. 
This  watch-the-other- fellow  business  is  making  me 
nervous  as  an  old  woman.  Once  we  had  those  two 
dead  to  rights  they  might  let  out  something  that 
would  enable  us  to  land  the  whole  bunch,  and  the 
plunder  besides;  once  we  had  them  rounded  up  we 
could  come  back  here  and  hunt  for  Hank  Rowan's 
gold-dust  in  peace." 


150  RAW  GOLD 


'  "YouVe  got  the  idea  exactly,  and  we'll  see  what 
we  can  do  in  the  morning,"  Mac  returned.  "But 
don't  get  married  to  the  notion  that  they'll  cough 
up  all  they  know,  right  off  the  reel.  Hicks  might, 
if  you  went  at  him  hard  enough.  But  not  the  other 
fellow.  Gregory's  game  clear  through — he's  dem- 
onstrated that  in  different  ways  since  I've  been  in 
the  Force.  You  could  carve  him  to  pieces  without 
hearing  a  cheep,  if  he  decided  to  keep  his  mouth 
shut.  And  he's  about  as  dangerous  a  man  in  a 
scrimmage  as  I  know.  If  there's  a  row,  don't  over- 
look Mr.  Gregory." 

We  hoofed  it  toward  camp  as  briskly  as  our 
galled  feet  would  permit,  for  the  sun  was  getting 
close  to  the  sky  line,  and  talked  over  Mac's  scheme 

as  we  went.  There  was  no  danger  of  being  over- 
heard on  that  bench.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  Hicks  and 
Gregory  didn't  know  we  were  up  there;  at  least, 
they  were  not  supposed  to  know.  MacRae  had 
made  a  practice  of  leaving  one  or  the  other  in  camp, 
in  case  some  prowling  Indians  should  spy  our  horses 
and  attempt  to  run  them  off.    That  afternoon  Hicks 


RAW  GOLD  151 


had  been  on  guard.     When  Mac  started  Gregory 

back  he  told  him  that  we  would  be  along  presently,  ] 

then  sal  himself  down  on  a  rock  and  watched  the  | 

breed.    When  he  was  far  enough  up  the  flat  to  lose  j 

track  of  our  movements  we  dropped  into  a  con-  I 
venient  washout  and  sneaked  along  it  to  the  foot 

of  the  bank,  where  a  jutting  point  of  rock  hid  sight  | 
of  us  climbing  the  hill. 

We  had  no  thought  of  spying  on  them,  at  first — *  I 

it  was  simply  to  be  rid  of  their  onerous  presence  j 

for  a  while,  and  getting  on  the  bench  was  an  after-  i 

thought.     But  as  we  came  opposite  camp,  MacRae  ■ 

took  a  notion  to  look  down  and  see  what  they  were  I 

about.     At  a  point  which  overlooked  the  bottom  i 

I 

some  two  hundred  yards  from  the  east  end  of  the  | 

Stone,  we  got  down  on  our  stomachs  and  wriggled  | 

carefully  to  the  naked  rim  of  the  cliff.     For  some  i 
time  we  laid  there,  peering  down  at  the  men  below. 

Hicks  was  puttering  around  the  fire,  evidently  cook-  j 

ing  supper,  and  Gregory  was  moving  the  picket  rope  i 

of  his  horse  to   fresh  grass.     There  was  nothing  i 

out  of  the  ordinary  to  be  seen,  and  I  drew  back.  \ 


152  RAW  GOLD 


But  MacRae  still  kept  his  place.  When  he  did  back 
away  from  the  edge,  he  had  the  look  of  a  man  who 
has  made  some  important  discovery. 

"On  my  soul,  I  believe  I've  found  it,"  he  calmly 
announced. 

"What!" 

"I  believe  I  have,"  he  repeated,  a  trace  of  exulta- 
tion in  his  tone.  "At  least,  it  amounts  to  the  same 
thing.  Crawl  up  there  again,  Sarge,  and  look 
straight  down  at  the  first  ledge  from  the  bottom. 
Hurry;  you  won't  see  anything  if  the  sun  has  left 
it.  And  be  careful  how  you  show  your  head.  We 
don't  want  to  get  them  stirred  up  till  we  have 
to." 

Cautiously  I  peeped  over  the  brink,  straight  down 
as  Mac  had  directed.  The  shadow  that  follows  on 
the  heels  of  a  setting  sun  was  just  creeping  over 
the  ledge,  but  the  slanting  rays  lingered  long  enough 
to  give  me  sight  of  a  glittering  patch  on  the  gray 
stone  shelf  below.  While  I  stared  the  sun  with- 
drew its  fading  beams  from  the  whole  face  of  the 
cliff,  but  even  in  the  duller  light  a  glint  of  yellow 


RAW  GOLD  153 


showed  dimly,  a  pin  point  of  gold  in  the  deepening 
shadow. 

Gold !  I  drew  back  from  the  rim  of  Writing-On- 
the-Stone,  that  set  of  whispered  phrases  echoing  in 
my  ears.  Mac  caught  my  eye  and  grinned.  ''Gold 
— raw  gold — on  the  rock — above."  I  mouthed  the 
words  parrotlike,  and  he  nodded  comprehendingly. 

*'0h,  thunder!"  I  exclaimed.  *'Do  you  reckon 
that's  what  he  meant?" 

''What  else?"  Mac  reasoned.  'They'd  mark  the 
place  somehow — and  aren't  those  his  exact  words? 
What  dummies  we  were  not  to  look  on  those  ledgea 
before.  You  can't  see  the  surface  of  them  from 
the  flat;  and  we  might  have  known  they  would 
hardly  put  a  mark  where  it  could  be  seen  by  any 
pilgrim  who  happened  to  ride  through  that  bot^ 
tom." 

"Hope  youVe  right,"  I  grunted  optimistically. 

"We'll  know  beyond  a  doubt,  in  the  morning,'* 
Mac  declared.  "To-night  we  w^on't  do  anything  but 
eat,  drink,  and  sleep  as  sound  as  possible,  for  to- 
morrow we  may  have  one  hell  of  a  time.    I  prefer 


154  RAW  GOLD 


to  have  a  few  hours  of  daylight  ahead  of  us  when 
we  raise  that  cache.  Things  are  apt  to  tighten,  and 
I  don't  like  a  rumpus  in  the  dark.  Just  now  I'm 
hungry.  If  that  stuff  is  there,  it  will  keep.  Come 
on  to  camp;  our  troubles  are  either  nearly  over  or 
just  about  to  begin  in  earnest." 

We  followed  the  upland  past  the  end  of  the 
Stone  till  we  found  a  slope  that  didn't  require  wings 
for  descent.  If  Hicks  or  Gregory  wondered  at  our 
arrival  from  the  opposite  direction  in  which  we 
should  have  appeared,  they  didn't  betray  any  un- 
seemly curiosity.  Supper  and  a  cigarette  or  two 
consumed  the  twilight  hour,  and  when  dark  shut 
down  we  took  to  our  blankets  and  dozed  through 
the  night. 

At  daybreak  we  breakfasted.  Without  a  word  to 
any  one  MacRae  picked  up  his  carbine  and  walked 
out  of  camp.  I  followed,  equally  silent.  It  was 
barely  a  hundred  yards  to  the  ledge,  and  I  caught 
myself  wishing  it  were  a  good  deal  farther — out  of 
range  of  those  watchful  eyes.    I  couldn't  help  won- 


RAW  GOLD  155 


dering  how  it  would  feel  to  be  potted  at  the  moment 
of  discovery. 

"I  thought  I'd  leave  them  both  behind,  and  let 
them  take  it  out  in  guessing,"  Mac  explained,  when 
we  stood  under  the  rock  shelf  upon  which  we  had 
looked  down  the  evening  before.  "We're  right 
under  their  noses,  so  they  won't  do  anything  till  the 
stuff's  actually  in  sight." 

He  studied  the  face  of  the  cliff  for  a  minute. 
The  ledge  jutted  out  from  the  towering  wall  approx- 
imately twenty  feet  above  our  heads,  but  it  could 
be  reached  by  a  series  of  jagged  points  and  knobs ; 
a  sort  of  natural  stairway — though  some  of  the 
steps  were  a  long  way  apart.  Boulders  of  all  shapes 
and  sizes  lay  bedded  in  the  soft  earth  where  we 
stood. 

You  shin  up  there,  Sarge,"  Mac  commanded, 
and  locate  that  mark.     It  ought  to  be  an  easy 
climb." 

I  "shinned,"  and  reached  the  ledge  with  a  good 
deal  of  skin  peeled  from  various  parts  of  my  per- 
son.   The  first  object  my  eye  fell  upon  as  I  hoisted 


<r 


(t 


156  RAW  GOLD 


myself  above  the  four-foot  shelf  was  a  dull,  yellow 
spot  on  the  gray  rock,  near  enough  so  that  I  could 
lean  forward  and  touch  it  with  my  fingers.  A  two- 
inch  circle  of  the  real  thing — I'd  seen  enough  gold 
in  the  raw  to  know  it  without  any  acid  test — ham- 
mered into  the  coarse  sandstone.  I  pried  it  up  with 
the  blade  of  my  knife  and  looked  it  over.  Orig- 
inally it  had  been  a  fair-sized  nugget.  Hans  or 
Rowan  had  pounded  it  into  place  with  the  back  of 
a  hatchet  (the  corner-marks  told  me  that),  flatten- 
ing it  to  several  times  its  natural  diameter.  I  threw 
it  down  to  MacRae,  and  looked  carefully  along  the 
ledge.  There  was  no  other  mark  that  I  could  see; 
I  began  to  wonder  if  we  were  as  hot  on  the  scent 
as  we  had  thought. 

"Is  there  a  loose  piece  of  rock  up  there?"  Mac 
called  presently.  ''If  there  is,  set  it  on  the  edge,  in 
line  with  where  this  was." 

I  found  a  fragment  about  the  size  of  my  fist  and 
set  it  on  the  rim  of  the  ledge.  He  squinted  up  at  it 
a  moment,  then  nodded,  smiling. 

"Come  on  down  now,  Sarge,"  he  grinned;  and, 


RAW  GOLD  157 


seating  himself  on  a  rock  with  the  carbine  across 
his  knees,  he  began  to  roll  a  cigarette,  as  if  the  find- 
ing of  Hank  Rowan's  gold-cache  were  a  thing  of 
no  importance  whatever. 

"Well,"  I  began,  when  I  had  negotiated  that  pre- 
carious succession  of  knobs  and  notches  and  accu- 
mulated a  fresh  set  of  bruises,  "why  don't  you  get 
busy?  How  much  wiser  are  you  now?  Where's 
your  gold-dust?" 

He  took  a  deliberate  puff  and  squinted  up  at  the 
ledge  again.  "I'm  sitting  on  it,  as  near  as  I  can 
figure,"  he  coolly  asserted. 

"Yes,  you  are,"  I  fleered.    "I'm  from  Missouri !" 

"Oh,  you're  a  doubting  Thomas  of  the  first 
water,"  he  said.  "Stand  behind  me,  you  con- 
founded unbeliever.  Kink  your  back  a  little  and 
look  over  that  stone  you  set  for  a  mark.  Do  you 
see  anything  that  catches  your  attention?" 

Getting  in  the  position  he  suggested,  I  looked  up. 
Away  back  in  the  days  before  the  white  man  was 
a  power  to  be  reckoned  with  in  the  Indian's  scheme 
of  things,  some  warrior  had  stood  upon  that  self- 


158  RAW  GOLD 


same  ledge  and  hacked  out  with  a  flint  chisel  what 
he  and  his  fellows  doubtless  considered  a  work  of 
art.  Uncanny-looking  animals,  and  uncannier  fig- 
ures that  might  have  passed  for  anything  from  an 
articulated  skeleton  to  a  Missing  Link,  cavorted 
in  a  long  line  across  that  tribal  picture-gallery.  Be- 
tween each  group  of  figures  the  face  of  the  rock 
was  scored  with  mysterious  signs  and  rudely  limned 
weapons  of  war  and  chase.  Right  over  the  stone 
marker,  a  long-shafted  war-lance  was  carved — the 
blade  pointing  down.  MacRae's  seat,  stone-marker, 
and  aboriginal  spearhead;  the  three  lined  up  like 
the  sights  of  a  modern  rifle.  The  conclusion,  in  the 
light  of  what  we  knew  from  Rutter,  was  obvious, 
even  to  a  lunkhead  like  myself. 

"It  looks  like  you  might  have  struck  it,"  I  was 
constrained  to  admit. 

Mac  threw  away  his  cigarette.  "Here  and  now 
is  where  we  find  out,"  he  declared. 

Worming  our  fingers  under  the  edge  of  the  boul- 
der, we  lifted  with  all  the  strength  that  was  in  us. 
For  a  second  it  seemed  that  we  could  never  budge 


BEDDED   IN'   THE    SOFT    EAUTH    UNDERNEATH   LAY    THE    SLI.M    BUCKSKIN    SACKS. 

Page  159. 


RAW  GOLD  159 


it  Then  it  began  to  rise  slowly,  so  slowly  that  I 
thought  the  muscles  of  my  back  would  snap,  and 
MacRae's  face  close  by  mine  grew  red  and  then 
purple  with  the  strain.  But  it  moved,  and  presently 
a  great  heave  turned  it  over.  Bedded  in  the  soft 
earth  underneath  lay  the  slim  buckskin  sacks.  Our 
fingers,  I  remember,  trembled  a  bit  as  we  stood  one 
on  end  and  loosened  its  mouth  to  make  sure  if  we 
had  found  the  treasure  for 'which  two  men  had  al- 
ready lost  their  lives. 

"Here" — Mac  handed  me  his  carbine — "you  stay 
with  the  yellow  temptation.  From  now  on  we'll 
have  to  keep  a  close  eye  on  this  stuff,  and  likewise 
have  our  guns  handy.  I'll  make  those  fellows  pack 
up  and  bring  the  horses  here.  Then  we'll  load  this 
and  pull  for  Walsh." 

His  first  move  was  to  saddle  his  black  horse  and 
my  dun.  These  he  led  to  the  fire,  and  thereafter 
stood  a  little  to  one  side,  placidly  consuming  a 
cigarette  while  the  other  two  packed  the  camp-outfit 
and  saddled  their  own  mounts.     Then  they  trailed 


160  RAW  GOLD 


across  the  flat  toward  me,  MacRae  blandly  bringing 
up  the  rear.    He  wasn't  taking  any  chances. 

Half  an  hour  later,  with  the  sacks  of  gold  se- 
curely lashed  on  the  aparejos  of  the  pack-horse,  we 
climbed  out  of  Writing-Stone  bottom  and  swung 
away  over  the  silent  tablelands. 

With  Writing-on-the-Stone  scarcely  three  miles 
behind,  the  long-abandoned  burrow  of  a  badger  be- 
trayed us  into  the  hands  of  the  enemy.  (What  a 
power  for  thwarting  the  plans  of  men  little  things 
sometimes  exercise!)  We  had  contrived  that  Greg- 
ory should  lead  the  pack-horse,  which  gave  MacRae 
and  me  both  hands  to  use  in  case  of  a  hostile  demon- 
stration; that  there  would  be  such,  neither  of  us 
doubted  from  the  moment  those  two  laid  eyes  on 
the  buckskin  sacks.  The  sidelong,  covetous  glance 
that  passed  between  them  bespoke  what  was  in  their 
minds.  And  from  that  time  on  the  four  of  us  were 
like  so  many  open-headed  casks  of  powder  sitting  by 
a  fire;  sooner  or  later  a  spark  would  bring  the  ex- 
plosion. We  had  them  at  a  disadvantage  trotting 
across  the  level  upland,  Gregory  in  the  lead  and 


RAW  GOLD  161 


Hicks  sandwiched  between  Mac  and  myself — until 
MacRae's  horse  planted  his  foreleg  to  the  knee  in 
an  old  badger-hole  hidden  under  a  rank  accumula- 
tion of  grass.  The  black  pitched  forward  so  sud- 
denly that  Mac  had  no  time  to  swing  clear,  and  as 
he  went  down  under  the  horse  Gregory's  agile  brain 
grasped  the  opportunity  of  the  situation,  and  his 
gun  flashed  out  of  its  scabbard. 

My  hand  flew  to  mine  as  I  jerked  the  dun  up 
short,  but  I  wasn't  fast  enough — and  Hicks  was 
too  close.  It  was  a  trilogy  of  gun-drawing.  Greg- 
ory drew  his  and  fired  at  MacRae  with  the  devilish 
quickness  of  a  striking  rattler;  I  drew  with  intent 
to  get  Mr.  Gregory ;  and  Hicks  drew  his  and  slapped 
me  over  the  head  with  it,  even  as  my  finger  curled 
on  the  trigger.  My  gun  went  off,  I  know — after- 
ward I  had  a  dim  recollection  of  a  faint  report — but 
whether  the  bullet  went  whistling  into  the  blue 
above  or  buried  itself  in  the  broad  bosom  of  the 
Territory,  I  can't  say.  Things  ceased  to  happen, 
right  then  and  there,  so  far  as  I  was  concerned. 
And  I  haven't  satisfied  myself  yet  why  Hicks  struck 


162  RAW  GOLD 


instead  of  shooting ;  unless  he  had  learned  the  fron- 
tier lesson  that  a  bullet  in  a  vital  spot  doesn't  always 
incapacitate  a  man  for  deadly  gun-play,  while  a 
hard  rap  on  the  head  invariably  does.  It  wasn't  any 
scruple  of  mercy,  for  Hicks  was  as  cold-blooded  a 
brute  as  ever  glanced  down  a  gun-barrel. 

When  my  powers  of  sight  and  speech  and  hearing 
returned,  MacRae  stood  over  me,  nowise  harmed. 
The  black  horse  lay  where  he  had  fallen.  I  sat  up 
and  glanced  about,  thankful  that  I  was  still  in  the 
flesh,  but  in  a  savage  mood  for  all  that.  This, 
thought  I,  is  a  dismal-looking  outcome — two  men 
and  a  dead  horse  left  high  and  dry  on  the  sun- 
flooded  prairie.  And  a  rampant  ache  in  my  head, 
seconded  by  a  medium-sized  gash  in  the  scalp,  didn't 
make  for  an  access  of  optimism  at  that  moment. 

"Well,"  I  burst  out  profanely,  "we  lose  again, 
eh?" 

"Looks  like  it,"  Mac  answered  laconically.  Then 
he  whirled  about  and  walked  to  a  little  point  some 
distance  away,  where  he  stood  with  his  back  to  me, 
looking  toward  Lost  River. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

OUTLAWED. 

I  SAT  where  I  was  for  a  while,  fingering  my  sore 
head  and  keeping  my  thoughts  to  myself,  for  I 
had  a  keen  sense  of  the  mood  he  was  in.  For 
the  second  time,  through  no  fault  of  his  own,  he 
had  failed  to  live  up  to  that  tradition  of  the  Force 
which  accepts  nothing  short  of  unqualified  victory 
for  a  Mounted  Policeman  when  he  clashes  with 
breakers  of  the  law.  And,  in  addition,  he  had  let 
slip  through  his  fingers  a  fortune  that  belonged  to  a 
woman  for  whom  he  cared  a  great  deal  more  than 
he  was  willing  to  admit.  I  felt  pretty  small  and 
ashamed  myself,  to  think  of  the  ease  with  which 
they  had  left  us  afoot  on  the  bald  prairie  after  all 
our  scheming,  our  precaution  against  something 
we  were  sure  would  happen;  and  there  was  no 
responsibility  on  my  shoulders — except  for  that  ten 
thousand  of  La  Pere's,  which  I  was  beginning  to 
think  I'd  looked  my  last  upon.     Mac  had  not  only 


164  RAW  GOLD 


the  knowledge  of  personal  failure — bitter  enough, 
itself,  to  a  man  of  his  temperament — to  gnaw  at 
him,  but  the  prospect  of  another  grilling  from  the 
powers  in  gold  braid.  It  would  have  been  strange 
if  he  hadn't  felt  blue. 

He  came  back,  however,  in  a  few  minutes,  and 
squatting  beside  me  abstractedly  got  out  papers  and 
tobacco. 

"I  suppose  that  bunch  will  quijt  the  country  now," 
he  remarked  at  length.  "They've  got  their  hands 
on  a  heap  of  money  in  the  last  ten  days;  all  they'll 
have  a  chance  to  grab  for  some  time.  And  they've 
come  out  into  the  open.  So  there's  not  much  doubt 
of  their  next  move — they'll  be  on  the  wing." 

"Well,  we  have  a  cinch  on  identifying  them  now," 
I  commented.  "We've  got  that  much  out  of  the 
deal.  If  the  Mounted  Police  are  half  as  good  man- 
hunters  as  they  are  said  to  be,  they  ought  to  round 
up  that  bunch  in  short  order.  Did  the  black  hurt 
you  when  he  fell?" 

"Bruised  my  leg  some,"  he  returned  indifferently. 
Then,  scowling  at  the  remembrance:  "If  he  hadn't 


RAW  GOLD  165 


caught  me  right  under  him  I'd  have  got  action  on 
those  two.  But  the  jar  threw  my  six-shooter  where 
I  couldn't  reach  it,  and  the  carbine  was  jammed  in 
the  stirrup-leather  on  the  wrong  side.  I  reckon 
Gregory  thought  he  got  me  first  shot.  He  would 
have,  too,  only  Crow  threw  up  his  head  and  stopped 
the  bullet  instead  of  me.  They  had  ducked  into  that 
coulee  by  the  time  I  got  clear.  Hicks  grabbed  your 
horse  and  took  him  along.  I'm  somewhat  puzzled 
to  know  why  they  didn't  stand  pat  and  make  a  clean 
job  of  us  both.    Blast  them,  anyway!" 

"Same  here,  and  more  of  it,"  I  fervently  ex- 
claimed. 

"Come  on,  let's  get  out  of  here,"  Mac  abruptly 
proposed.  "We'll  have  to  make  Pend  d'  Oreille  and 
send  word  to  Walsh.  It'll  take  the  whole  force  to 
catch  them  now." 

My  gun  lay  where  it  had  fallen  when  Hicks 
whacked  me  over  the  head.  I  picked  it  up,  replaced 
the  empty  cartridge,  and  shoved  it  back  into  the 
scabbard.  MacRae  hoisted  the  carbine  to  his  shoul- 
der, and  we  started. 


166  RAW  GOLD 


We  poked  along  slowly  at  first,  for  I  was  still 
a  bit  dizzy  from  that  blow.  Before  long  we  came 
to  a  spring  seeping  from  the  hillside,  and  when  I 
had  bathed  my  head  in  the  cool  water  I  began  to 
feel  more  like  myself.  Thereafter,  we  tramped 
silently  across  high,  dry  benches,  slid  and  scrambled 
to  the  bottoms  of  an  endless  succession  of  coulees, 
and  wearily  climbed  the  steep  banks  that  lay  beyond. 
The  cool  morning  wind  died  away;  the  sun  reeled 
up  on  its  appointed  circle,  glaring  brazenly  into 
every  nook  and  cranny  in  the  land.  Underfoot,  the 
dry  sod  grew  warm,  then  hot,  till  the  soles  of  our 
boots  became  instruments  of  torture  to  feet  that 
were  sadly  galled  by  fruitless  tramping  around  the 
Stone.  When  a  man  has  grown  up  in  the  habit  of 
mounting  a  horse  to  travel  any  distance  over  three 
hundred  yards,  a  walk  of  twenty  undulating  miles 
over  a  network  of  bald  ridges  and  yawning  coulees 
makes  him  think  that  a  sulphur-and-brimstone  here- 
after can't  possibly  hold  much  discomfort  that  he 
hasn't  sampled.  A  cowpuncher  in  high-heeled 
riding-boots  is  handicapped   for  pedestrianism  by 


RAW  GOLD  167 


both  training  and  inclination — and  that  scarred  and 
wrinkled  portion  of  the  Northwest  is  a  mighty  poor 
strolling-ground  for  any  man. 

But  we  kept  on,  for  the  simple  reason  that  there 
was  nothing  else  we  could  do.  MacRae  wasted  no 
breath  in  words.  If  the  heat  and  the  ungodly  steep- 
ness of  the  hills  and  the  luke-warm  water  that 
trickled  along  the  creek  channels  ruffled  his  temper, 
he  made  no  noise  about  it,  only  pressed  doggedly 
toward  Pend  d'  Oreille.  I  daresay  he  thought  I 
was  attending  to  that  part  of  it,  registering  a  com- 
plaint for  both  of  us.  And  if  I  didn't  rise  to  the 
occasion  it  was  the  fault  of  my  limited  vocabulary. 
I  kept  a  stiff  backbone  for  a  while,  but  presently  a 
futile  rage  against  circumstances  bubbled  up  and 
boiled  over.  I  climbed  each  succeeding  canyon  wall 
oozing  perspiration  and  profanity,  and  when  the  top 
was  reached  took  fresh  breath  and  damned  the 
Northwest  by  sections  in  a  large,  fluent  manner  of 
speech.  In  time,  however,  the  foolishness  of  this 
came  home  to  me,  and  I  subsided  into  spasmodic 
growling,  saving  my  wind  for  the  miles  yet  to  cover. 


168  RAW  GOLD 


Well  past  noon  we  reached  the  summit  of  a  hog- 
backed  ridge  that  overlooked  the  tortuous  windings 
of  Lost  River,  a  waterless  channel  between  banks 
that  were  void  of  vegetation.  The  crest  of  the 
divide  was  studded  with  great  outcroppings  of  sand- 
stone, and  in  the  shadow  of  one  giant  rock  we  laid 
dawn  to  rest  before  we  descended  into  that  barren 
valley  where  the  heat-waves  shimmered  like  crepon 
silk.  The  cool  bit  of  earth  was  good  to  stretch 
upon;  for  nearly  an  hour  we  laid  there,  beyond 
reach  of  the  glowing  sun;  it  was  worth  almost  the 
treasure  we  had  lost  to  ease  our  aching  feet.  Then 
reluctantly  we  started  again. 

As  we  stepped  from  behind  the  rock  three  riders 
came  into  sight  on  the  opposite  slope  of  Lost  River. 
A  moment's  scrutiny  assured  us  that  they  were 
Mounted  Policemen.  From  habit  our  eyes  swept 
the  surrounding  country,  and  in  a  moment  we  ob- 
served other  groups  of  mounted  men,  an  equal  dis- 
tance apart  and  traveling  in  the  same  general  direc- 
tion— like  a  round-up  sweeping  over  a  cattle-range. 

"They're  out  for  somebody.    I  shouldn't  be  sur- 


RAW  GOLD  169 


prised  if  they  have  smelled  out  our  friends,"  said 
MacRae.  "And  seeing  this  bunch  is  heading  right 
toward  us,  we  might  as  well  take  it  easy  here  till 
they  come  up." 

Returning  to  the  cool  shade,  we  waited  till  they 
crossed  that  miniature  desert.  I  looked  once  or 
twice,  and  hoped  we  would  not  have  to  walk  over  it ; 
I'd  seen  the  Mohave  and  the  Staked  Plains,  and  I 
knew  it  was  sizzling  hot  in  that  ancient  river-bed — 
it  is  hot,  and  dry,  when  the  heat-waves  play  tricks 
with  objects  seen  from  afar.  Those  three  riders 
moved  in  a  transparent  haze,  distorted,  grotesque 
figures;  now  giants,  broad,  uncouth  shapes;  now 
pigmies  astride  of  horses  that  progressed  slowly  on 
long,  stiltlike  legs,  again  losing  form  and  waving 
like  tall,  slender  trees  swayed  by  vagrant  winds. 
After  a  time  they  ascended  above  the  level  where 
the  superheated  atmosphere  played  its  pranks,  and 
came  riding  up  the  ridge  in  their  true  presentment. 
When  they  got  within  shouting  distance  we  stepped 
into  the  sunlight  and  hailed  them. 

From  the  moment  that  they  jerked  up  their  horses 


170  RAW  GOLD 


at  MacRae's  call,  I  had  an  odd  sense  of  impending 
trouble.  For  an  instant  it  seemed  as  if  they  were 
about  to  break  for  cover ;  and  when  they  approached 
us  there  was  a  strained,  expectant  expression  on 
each  tanned  face,  a  wariness  in  their  actions  that 
looked  unnatural  to  me.  The  nearer  they  came  the 
more  did  I  feel  keyed  up  for  some  emergency.  I 
can't  explain  why;  that's  something  that  I  don't 
think  will  bear  logical  analysis.  Who  can  explain 
the  sixth  sense  that  warns  a  night-herder  of  a 
stampede  a  moment  before  the  herd  jumps  off  the 
bed-ground?  But  that  is  how  I  felt — and  imme- 
diately it  transpired  that  there  was  good  reason. 

They  stopped  their  horses  within  ten  feet  of  us 
and  dismounted,  all  three  of  them,  a  corporal  and 
two  privates,  in  the  same  breath  that  we  said  "hello." 
The  corporal,  rather  chalky-looking  under  his  tan, 
stepped  forward  and  laid  a  hand  on  MacRae's 
shoulder. 

"Gordon  MacRae  and  Sarge  Flood,  in  the 
Queen's  name  I  arrest  you  for  the  robbery  of  Pay- 
master Ingstram  on  the  MacLeod  trail  and  the  mur- 


RAW  GOLD  171' 


der  of  two  of  his  escort,  and  I  warn  you  that  any- 
thing you  may  say  will  be  used  against  you." 

He  poured  it  out  without  pause  or  inflection,  like 
a  lesson  well  learned,  a  little  ceremony  of  speech 
that  it  was  well  to  hurry  over ;  and  the  two  troopers 
edged  nearer,  the  right  hand  of  each  stealing  to- 
ward the  pistol  that  rested  on  his  hip.  It  took  nerve 
to  beard  us  that  way,  when  one  comes  to  think  it 
over.  If  we  had  been  guilty  of  that  raid,  it  was 
dollars  to  doughnuts  that  we  would  resist  arrest, 
and  according  to  the  rules  and  regulations  of  the 
Force  they  were  compelled  to  take  a  long  chance. 
A  Mounted  Policeman  can't  use  his  gun  except  in 
self-defense.  He  isn't  supposed  to  smoke  up  a  fugi- 
tive unless  the  fugitive  begins  to  throw  lead  his  way 
— which  method  of  procedure  gives  a  man  who  is, 
in  the  vernacular,  "on  the  dodge"  all  the  best  of  a 
situation  like  that;  for  it  gives  an  outlaw  a  chance 
to  take  the  initiative,  and  the  first  shot  often  settles 
an  argument  of  that  kind.  The  dominating  idea,  as 
I  understood  it,  was  that  the  majesty  of  the  law 
should  prove  a  sufficiently  powerful  weapon;  and 


172  RAW  GOLD 


in  the  main  it  did.  No  thief,  murderer,  or  smuggler 
ever  yet  successfully  and  systematically  defied  it. 
Men  have  gone  to  the  bad  up  there — robbed,  mur- 
dered, defrauded,  killed  a  Policeman  or  two,  maybe, 
but  in  the  end  were  gathered  in  by  "the  riders  of 
the  plains"  and  dealt  with  according  to  their  just 
deserts.  So  it  has  come  to  pass  throughout  the 
length  and  breadth  of  the  Northwest  that  "in  the 
Queen's  name'*  out  of  the  mouth  of  an  unarmed 
redcoat,  with  one  hand  lightly  on  your  shoulder, 
carries  more  weight  than  a  smoking  gun. 

None  of  this  occurred  to  me,  just  then.  The  one 
thing  that  loomed  big  in  my  mind's  eye  was  the 
monstrous  injustice  of  the  accusation.  Coming 
right  on  top  of  what  I'd  lately  experienced  at  the 
hands  of  the  men  who  had  really  done  that  dirty 
job — my  head  still  tingled  from  the  impact  of 
Hicks'  pistol — it  stirred  up  all  the  ugliness  I  was 
capable  of,  and  a  lot  that  I  had  never  suspected. 
No  Fort  Walsh  guardhouse  for  me!  No  lying 
behind  barred  windows,  with  my  feet  chain-hobbled 
like  a  straying  horse,  while  the  slow-moving  Cana- 


RAW  GOLD  173 


dian  courts  debated  my  guilt  or  innocence!  Not 
while  I  had  the  open  prairie  underfoot  and  the 
summer  sky  above,  and  hands  to  strike  a  blow  or 
pull  a  trigger. 

Even  had  I  been  alone  I  think  that  I  was  crazy 
enough,  for  the  moment,  to  have  matched  myself 
single-handed  against  the  three  of  them.  In  which 
case  I  should  likely  have  bidden  a  premature  fare- 
well to  all  earthly  interests — though  I  might,  per- 
haps, have  managed  to  take  with  me  a  Policeman 
or  two  for  company  on  the  long  trail.  But  a  queer 
look  that  flashed  over  MacRae's  face,  a  suggestive 
drawing  back  of  his  arm,  intimated  that  something 
of  the  same  was  in  his  mind.  Heavens,  but  a  man 
can  think  a  lot  in  the  space  of  time  it  takes  to  count 
three ! 

I  jumped  for  the  two  troopers,  with  a  frenzied 
notion  that  I  could  put  them  both  out  of  business  if 
MacRae  would  only  attend  to  the  corporal.  The 
distance  didn't  permit  of  gun-play;  and,  hot  as  I 
was,  I  had  the  sense  to  know  that  those  men  weren't 
responsible  for  my  troubles;  I  didn't  want  to  kill 


174  RAW  GOLD 


them,  if  I  could  help  it — what  I  desired  above  all 
else  was  to  get  away,  and  burn  powder  with  Hicks, 
Gregory  and  Co.,  if  powder-burning  was  to  be  on 
the  programme.  They  did  try  to  pull  their  guns, 
but  I  was  too  close.  I  spoiled  their  good  intentions 
by  kicking  one  with  all  the  force  I  could  muster,  and 
throwing  my  arms  in  a  fervent  embrace  about  the 
neck  of  the  other. 

A  number  eight  box-toed  riding-boot  planted  sud- 
denly in  the  pit  of  one's  stomach  brings  about  the 
same  result  as  a  kick  from  a  vigorous  Missouri 
mule,  I  should  imagine;  anyway,  that  Mounted  Po- 
liceman was  eliminated  as  a  fighting  unit  from  the 
instant  my  toe  made  connections  with  his  person. 
The  other  fellow  and  I  went  to  the  ground,  and  our 
struggle  was  of  short  duration,  for  Mac  bought  into 
the  ruction  with  his  carbine  for  a  club,  and  under 
its  soothing  touch  my  wiry  antagonist  ceased  from 
troubling.  I  scrambled  to  my  feet  and  glanced 
around.  The  corporal  was  sprawled  on  the  grass, 
his  face  to  the  sky. 

"We've  burned  our  bridges  now,  sure  as  fate," 


RAW  GOLD  175 


Mac  broke  out.  *'Here,  I'll  peel  the  guns  off  the 
bunch,  and  you  lead  their  horses  up  to  the  rock 
out -of  sight  of  these  other  fellows.  If  they  catch 
sight  of  us  milling  around  here  they're  apt  to  swing 
over  this  way  to  see  what's  up." 

I  led  the  horses  close  to  the  boulder  and  left  them 
standing  there  while  I  hurried  back.  By  that  time 
the  fellow  Fd  kicked  had  so  far  recovered  as  to  sit 
up,  and  the  look  he  gave  us  was  a  scorcher.  Mac- 
Rae,  with  cocked  carbine  to  emphasize  his  com.- 
mand,  ordered  him  to  drag  his  comrade  to  where 
the  horses  stood;  and  I  followed  after,  lugging 
the  insensible  corporal  to  the  same  shady  place. 

"I  want  to  know  the  how  of  this,"  Mac  demanded 
of  the  trooper.  "Who  issued  orders  for  our  arrest 
on  this  damn  fool  charge?    And  when?" 

"Lessard  give  us  our  orders,"  the  Policeman 
growled.  "He's  been  out  with  a  whole  bloomin' 
troop  ever  since  he  got  word  the  paymaster  'ad  bin 
stuck  up.  We  got  a  commissary  along,  an'  nooned 
about  ten  miles  east  o'  here.  After  dinner — about 
two  or  three  hours  ago — he  lined  us  up  an'  said  as 


176  RAW   GOLD 


'ow  he'd  got  word  that  you  two  fellers  'ad  bin 
identified  as  bein'  the  chaps  as  pulled  off  that  pay- 
master row,  an'  that  he  wanted  you.  Said  he  'ad 
reason  t'  believe  you  was  some'ers  between  Lost 
River  an'  the  Stone,  an'  you  was  t'  be  captured 
without  fail.  An'  that's  all  I  know  about  it,"  he 
concluded  frankly,  "except  that  you  fellers  is  bloody 
fools  t'  make  a  break  like  this.  It'll  go  that  much 
'arder  with  you — there  ain't  a  bloomin'  chance  for 
you  t'  get  away.  You  might  just  as  well  give  up 
peaceable." 

"Oh,  don't  preach,"  MacRae  protested.  "I  know 
all  that  as  well  as  you  do.  Great  Scott!  Burky, 
you've  known  me  ever  since  I  joined ;  do  you  imag- 
ine for  a  minute  that  I  was  in  on  that  hold-up? 
Why,  you  know  better.  If  I'd  done  anything  so 
damned  rotten,  I'd  have  been  out  of  the  country 
long  before  this." 

"Orders  is  orders,"  Burky  sententiously  observed. 
"Headquarters  sez  you're  t'  be  took  in,  an'  you'll 
be  took  in,  no  matter  what  a  feller's  private  opinion 
happens  t'  be.    I  ain't  no  bloomin'  judge  an'  jury  t' 


RAW  GOLD  177 


set  on  your  case,  anyway.  You'll  get  a  square  trial 
— same  as  everybody  gets.  But  you  ain't  a-helpin' 
yourself  a-cuttin'  of  didoes  like  this," 

''I  haven't  time  to  go  into  details,"  Mac  told  him,, 
"and  I  don't  suppose  you'd  believe  me  if  I  did.  But 
I've  a  blamed  good  reason  for  not  wanting  to  put 
in  several  months  cooling  my  heels  under  guard 
while  the  men  that  got  the  stuff  get  clear  out  of  the 
country.  We're  going  to  take  two  of  these  horses,. 
because  we'll  need  them  in  our  business;  and  we'll 
leave  your  guns  at  that  big  rock  down  the  ridge. 
I  don't  want  to  hurt  you,  Burky,  but  if  you  start 
making  signals  to  the  rest  of  the  bunch  before  we 
get  out  of  sight,  you'll  go  back  to  Walsh  feet  first. 
So  be  good.    You'll  see  us  again  before  long." 

When  we  were  ready  to  mount,  MacRae  fired 
another  question  at  Burky.  "Say,  have  you  seen 
anything  of  Frank  Hicks  or  Paul  Gregory  to-day?'* 

"They  was  both  in  camp  at  noon,"  the  trooper- 
replied. 

"Huh!  They  were,  eh?"  MacRae  swung  up^ 
and  spoke  from  the  saddle.    "Well,  if  you  see  them 


178  RAW  GOLD 


again,  tell  them  we'll  sure  give  them  a  hard  run 
for  the  money.  And  if  you've  got  your  month's 
pay  on  you,  Burky,  you'd  better  keep  your  hand  on 
it  while  those  two  pilgrims  are  about." 

We  took  the  third  horse  along  as  a  precautionary 
measure.  At  a  boulder  down  the  ridge  we  left  him, 
together  with  their  belts,  as  Mac  had  promised.  The 
only  bit  of  their  property  we  kept  besides  the  horses 
was  a  pair  of  field-glasses — something  that  we  knew 
would  be  priceless  to  men  who  were  practically  out- 
lawed. For  the  next  two  hours  we  slunk  like  coy- 
otes in  coulee-bottoms  and  deep  washouts,  until  we 
saw  the  commissary  wagon  cross  the  ridge  west  of 
Lost  River,  saw  from  a  safe  distance  the  brown 
specks  that  were  riders,  casting  in  wide  circles  for 
sight  of  us  or  our  trail. 

Then  MacRae  leaned  over  his  saddle-horn  and 
made  a  wry  face  at  them. 

"Hunt,  confound  you,"  he  said,  almost  cheerfully. 
"We'll  give  you  some  hunting  to  do  before  you're 
through  with  us." 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

A    CLOSE    CALL. 

WE  were  standing  in  a  brushy  pocket  on  the 
side  of  a  hill,  and  as  there  was  no  Imme- 
diate danger  of  our  being,  seen,  MacRae 
continued,  by  the  aid  of  the  glasses,  to  follow  the 
movements  of  our  would-be  captors. 

"D'you  know  that  plunder  can't  be  far  away; 
those  fellows  haven't  had  much  time  to  make  their 
cache/'  he  reflected,  more  to  himself  than  to  me. 
"I  wonder  how  they  accounted  to  Lessard  for  us. 
Just  think  of  it — somewhere  within  twenty  miles  of 
us  there's  in  the  neighborhood  of  a  hundred  thou- 
sand dollars  of  stolen  money,  planted  till  they  can 
get  it  safely ;  and  the  men  that  got  away  with  it  are 
helping  the  law  to  run  us  down.  That's  a  new 
feature  of  the  case;  one,  I  must  say,  that  I  didn't 
look  for." 

He  lowered  the  glasses,  and  regarded  me  soberly. 


180  RAW  GOLD 


"They  fight  fire  with  fire  in  a  grass  country,"  he 
observed.  "The  Mounted  PoHce  are  a  hard  forma- 
tion to  buck  against — but  I've  a  mind  to  see  this 
thing  to  a  finish.  How  do  you  feel  about  it,  Sarge  ? 
Will  you  go  through?" 

"All  the  way  and  back  again,"  I  promised  reck- 
lessly. I  wasn't  sure  of  what  he  had  in  mind,  but 
I  knew  him — and  seeing  that  we  were  in  the  same 
boat,  I  thought  it  fitting  that  we  should  sink  or 
swim  together. 

"We'll  come  out  on  top  yet,"  he  confidently  as- 
serted. "Meantime  we'd  better  locate  some  secluded 
spot  and  give  our  nags  a  chance  to  fill  up  on  grass 
and  be  fresh  for  to-morrow;  we're  apt  to  have  a 
hard  day." 

"It  wouldn't  be  a  bad  scheme  to  fill  ourselves  at 
the  same  time,"  I  suggested.  "I'm  feeling  pretty 
vacant  inside.  The  first  bunch  of  bufifalo  that  has 
a  fat  calf  along  is  going  to  hear  from  me." 

"If  we  can  get  over  this  ridge  without  being  seen, 
there's  a  canyon  with  some  cottonwoods  and  a  spring 
in  it.    That  will  be  as  good  a  place  to  hole  up  for 


RAW  GOLD  181 


the  night  as  we  can  find,"  Mac  decided.  "And  there 
will  likely  be  some  buffalo  near  there." 

So  we  ascended  cautiously  to  the  top  of  the  di- 
vide, keeping  in  the  coulees  as  much  as  possible,  for 
we  knew  that  other  field-glasses  would  be  focused 
on  the  hills.  Once  over  the  crest,  we  halted  and 
watched  for  riders  coming  our  way.  But  none 
appeared.  Once  I  thought  I  glimpsed  a  moving 
speck  on  the  farther  bank  of  Lost  River.  MacRae 
brought  the  glasses  to  bear,  and  said  it  was  two 
Policemen  jogging  toward  camp.  Then  we  were 
sure  that  our  flight  had  not  been  observed,  and  we 
dropped  into  a  depression  that  gradually  deepened 
to  a  narrow-bottomed  canyon.  Two  miles  down  this 
we  came  to  the  spring  of  which  MacRae  had  spoken, 
a  tiny  stream  issuing  from  a  crevice  at  the  foot  of 
the  bank.  What  was  equally  important,  a  thick 
clump  of  Cottonwood  and  willow  furnished  tolerably 
secure  concealment. 

The  fates  smiled  on  us  in  the  matter  of  food  very 
shortly.  I'm  not  enamored  of  a  straight  meat  diet 
as  a  rule,  but  that  evening  I  was  in  no  mood  to  carp 


182  RAW  GOLD 


at  anything  halfway  eatable.  While  we  were  on 
our  stomachs  gratefully  stowing  away  a  draught  of 
the  cool  water,  I  heard  a  buffalo  bull  lift  his  voice 
in  challenge  to  another  far  down  the  canyon.  We 
tied  our  horses  out  of  sight  in  the  timber  and  stole 
in  the  direction  of  the  sound.  A  glorious  bull-fight 
was  taking  place  when  we  got  within  shooting-dis- 
tance, the  cows  and  calves  forming  a  noisy  circle 
about  the  combatants,  each  shaggy  brown  brute 
bawling  with  all  the  strength  of  bovine  lungs;  in 
that  pandemonium  of  bellowing  and  trampling  I 
'doubt  if  the  report  of  Mac's  carbine  could  have 
been  heard  two  hundred  yards  away.  The  shot 
served  to  break  up  the  fight  and  scatter  the  herd, 
however,  and  we  returned  to  the  cottonwoods  with 
the  hind-quarter  of  a  fat  calf. 

Hungry  as  we  were,  we  could  hardly  bolt  raw 
meat,  so,  taking  it  for  granted  that  no  one  was 
likely  to  ride  up  on  us,  we  built  a  fire  in  the  grove, 
being  careful  to  feed  it  with  dry  twigs  that  would 
make  little  smoke.  Over  this  we  toasted  bits  of 
meat  on  the  end  of  a  splinter,  and  presently  our 


RAW  GOLD  183 

hunger  was  appeased.  Then  we  blotted  out  the  fire, 
and,  stretching  ourselves  on  the  ground,  had  re- 
course to  the  solace  of  tobacco. 

The  longer  we  laid  there  the  more  curious  did  I 
become  as  to  what  line  of  action  MacRae  purposed 
to  follow.  He  lay  on  his  back,  silent,  staring 
straight  up  at  the  bit  of  sky  that  showed  through 
the  branches  above,  and  I'd  just  reached  the  point 
of  asking,  when  he  sat  up  and  forestalled  my  ques- 
tions. 

*This  is  going  to  be  risky  business,  Sarge,"  he 
began.  "But  so  far  as  I  can  see,  there  is  only  one 
way  that  we  can  hope  to  get  the  thing  straightened 
out.  If  we  can  get  hold  of  Hicks  or  Bevans,  any 
one  of  the  four,  in  fact,  I  think  we  can  make  him 
tell  us  all  we  need  to  know.  It's  the  only  chance 
for  you  and  Lyn  to  get  your  money  back,  and  for 
me  to  square  myself." 

"I  shouldn't  think,"  I  put  in  resentfully,  "that 
you'd  want  to  square  yourself,  after  the  dirty  way 
you've  been  treated.  I'd  as  soon  take  to  herding 
sheep,  or  washing  dirty  clothes  like  a  Chinaman,  as 


184  RAW  GOLD 


be  a  member  of  the  Mounted  Police  if  what  I've 
seen  in  the  last  ten  days  is  a  fair  sample  of  what  a 
man  can  expect." 

"Fiddlesticks !"  Mac  impatiently  exclaimed.  "You 
don't  know  what  you're  talking  about.  I  tell  you 
a  man  in  the  Police,  if  he  has  any  head  at  all,  can 
control  his  own  destiny.  You'll  be  a  heap  more  sane 
when  you  get  that  old,  wild-west  notion,  that  every 
man  should  be  a  law  unto  himself,  out  of  your 
head.  I'll  venture  to  say  that  the  Northwest  will 
be  a  safer  and  more  law-abiding  place  five  years 
from  now  than  south  of  the  line  will  be  in  twenty 
— and  the  men  in  red  coats  will  make  it  so.  Why,  I 
wouldn't  miss  helping  tame  this  country  for  half  a 
dozen  such  scrapes  as  I'm  in  now.  This  is  merely 
the  result  of  a  rotten  spot  in  the  personnel,  a  rotten 
spot  that  will  soon  be  cut  out  If  things  come  about 
logically;  it  isn't  the  fault  of  the  system.  There 
never  was  any  great  movement  in  developing  a 
new  country  that  didn't  have  a  quota  of  damned 
rascals  to  eliminate  from  within  itself.  If  you 
ididn't  have  such  a  perverted  idea  of  independence, 


RAW  GOLD  185 


you'd  see  that  I'm  in  no  danger  of  losing  either  my 
identity  or  my  self-respect  simply  because  I've  be- 
come a  unit  in  a  body  of  six  hundred  fighting-men. 
I  don't  intend  to  remain  in  the  insignificant-unit 
class." 

"Your  intentions/'  I  interrupted,  "will  cut  a 
mighty  small  figure  if  your  friend  Lessard  gets  hold 
of  you  in  the  next  day  or  two." 

"That's  the  melancholy  truth,"  he  returned  seri- 
ously. "I  imagine  we'd  get  a  pretty  rough  deal ;  in 
fact,  I  wouldn't  be  surprised  if  that  troop  has  re- 
ceived orders,  by  now,  to  shoot  first  and  arrest  after- 
ward. Still,  I'm  willing  to  gamble  that  if  we  rode 
into  Fort  Walsh  and  gave  ourselves  up,  it  would 
only  be  a  matter  of  a  few  weeks  in  the  guard- 
house for  us  before  the  thing  was  cleared  up." 

"Maybe,"  I  responded  skeptically.  "If  that^s 
your  belief,  why  don't  you  act  accordingly?" 

"Because,  confound  it,  that's  just  v^here  they 
want  to  get  us,"  he  declared.  "Once  we  were  safely 
penned,  they'll  drift,  and  neither  you  nor  Lyn 
Rowan  nor  the  government  would  ever  lay  eyes  on 


186  RAW  GOLD 


that  bundle  of  money  again.  I  have  a  theory — but 
what's  vastly  more  important,  I  think  those  fellows 
can  hardly  get  out  of  the  country  with  their  plunder 
without  crossing  trails  with  us.  It  was  smooth 
business  to  set  the  dogs  on  us.  I  don't  quite  sabe — ' 
well,  I  do,  too.  You  can  probably  realize  just  how 
headquarters  would  take  the  sort  of  yarn  we'd  spin 
if  we  dashed  in  and  told  them  the  truth.  But  I 
think  we're  smart  enough  to  upset  these  fellows* 
calculations.  Lord !  wouldn't  it  be  a  stroke  of  busi- 
ness if  we  could  trap  that  collection  of  buccaneers? 
Frankly,  that  would  be  the  biggest  thing  that  ever 
came  my  way." 

"It  would  be  equally  a  stroke  of  business  if  they 
happen  to  trap  us,"  I  reminded. 

"They  won't,"  he  asserted  confidently.  "We 
can't  afford  to  let  them.  We've  inflicted  a  com- 
pound fracture  on  established  law,  and  until  we 
can  make  the  outcome  justify  our  actions,  we're 
compelled,  in  self-defense,  to  avoid  being  caught 
It  may  be  a  dubious  undertaking.  But  as  I  see  it  the 
only  thing  for  us  is  to  hang  on  the  flank  of  these 


RAW  GOLD  187 


man-hunters  till  we  can  lay  hold  of  one  of  that  red- 
handed  quartette.  According  to  Burky,  two  of 
them,  at  least,  are  in  that  troop.  Probably  the 
others  are.  And  knowing  that  bunch  as  well  as  I 
do,  I  don't  think  they'll  lift  the  plunder  and  quit 
the  country  till  they  can  go  together.  Even  if  we 
can't  get  hold  of  one  of  them,  we  can  keep  track  of 
their  movements,  and  if  they  do  lift  their  cache  and 
pull  out,  why,  that  would  be  as  good  as  we  want. 
I  wouldn't  ask  anything  better  than  to  get  a  fair 
chance  at  that  bunch  with  the  stolen  money  on 
them." 

I'll  admit  that,  soberly  considered,  MacRae's  plan 
did  look  exceeding  risky.  No  one  could  appreciate 
better  than  ourselves  the  unpleasant  possibilities  that 
stared  us  in  the  face.  But  things  had  narrowed  to  a 
point  where  only  two  courses  were  open  to  us— one, 
to  throw  up  our  hands  and  quit  the  jurisdiction  of 
the  Mounted  Police,  which  involved  desertion  on 
MacRae's  part,  and  on  mine  a  chicken-hearted  aban- 
donment of  La  Pere's  trust  in  me  (for,  rightly  or 
wrongly,  I  was  given  over  to  the  feeling  that  on  me 


188  RAW  GOLD 


alone  rested  the  responsibility  for  the  loss  or  recov- 
ery of  La  Pere's  money) ;  the  other,  to  take  any 
measure,  no  matter  how  desperate,  that  would  un- 
ravel the  tangle.  All  things  considered,  the  latter 
was  the  logical  choice.  And  the  plan  Mac  had  put 
forth  seemed  as  feasible  as  any. 

*'We'll  have  to  proceed  on  the  faro-bank  formula 
that  all  bets  go  as  they  lay,"  I  said  lightly.  "There's 
no  use  anticipating  things  disagreeable  or  otherwise ; 
we'll  simply  have  to  take  them  as  they  come." 

By  this  time  dusk  was  upon  us.  We  picketed  the 
horses  in  the  open  bottom  where  grass  was  more 
plentiful  than  in  the  brush,  and  settled  ourselves  to 
sleep.  Fortunately,  the  aftermath  of  that  blistering 
day  was  a  fairly  warm  night.  By  spreading  over 
us  the  heavy  woolen  blankets  the  Mounted  Police 
use  under  their  saddles,  we  slept  in  comfort.  Long 
before  dawn,  however,  we  arose,  built  a  fire,  and 
breakfasted  on  buffalo  veal,  at  the  same  time  broil- 
ing a  good  supply  and  stowing  it  in  our  pockets  to 
serve  the  rest  of  the  day.  Then,  with  darkness  still 
obscuring  our  movements,  we  saddled  and  rode  over 


RAW  GOLD  189 


the  ridge  and  down  into  Lost  River,  crossing  that 
ancient  waterway  before  the  first  glimmer  of  light 
in  the  east. 

Day  found  us  dismounted  in  the  head  of  a  coulee 
where  we  could  spy  on  the  Police  camp  from  a  dis- 
tance of  three  miles,  more  or  less.  About  sunrise 
the  troop  left  camp  in  a  body,  later  spreading  fan- 
wise  over  the  prairies.  Once  a  party  trotted  by 
within  a  half-mile  of  us,  but  no  one  of  the  four 
men  we  wanted  to  see  was  in  the  squad. 

Until  after  the  noon  hour  we  laid  perdu  in  the 
hollow,  no  wiser  for  our  watching.  Then  I  saw  a 
number  of  riders  debouch  from  the  camp,  and  at 
once  trained  the  glasses  on  them.  At  first  I  couldn't 
distinguish  any  particular  face  among  so  many  shift- 
ing forms,  but  presently  they  split  in  two  bodies, 
and  these  again  subdivided;  and  in  the  bunch  com- 
ing toward  us  I  recognized  three  men,  Lessard,  un- 
mistakable in  his  black  uniform,  Hicks,  and  Bevans. 
I  turned  the  glasses  over  to  MacRae  then. 

"I  thought  probably  some  more  of  our  friends 
jvould    show    up,"  he  said,  after  a  quick  survey. 


190  RAW  GOLD 


"With  those  two  in  sight  the  chances  are  that  all 
four  are  with  the  troop.  The  other  fellows  in  that 
squad  are  just  plain  buck  Policemen.  Confound 
them,  I  wish Aha,  by  Jupiter!  the  big  chief 


is  turning  off  those  two. 


>> 


As  Mac  spoke  I  saw  the  two  men  I  had  spotted 
as  Hicks  and  Bevans  swing  away  from  the  rest  and 
angle  toward  Lost  River.  From  our  vantage  point 
we  watched  them  come  abreast  and  pass  us  at  a 
distance  well  within  a  mile.  The  others  turned 
south,  directly  away  from  us. 

"Now,"  Mac  coolly  declared,  "here's  where  we 
get  the  chance  we  want,  if  we're  lucky.  We'll  keep 
parallel  with  these  gentlemen,  and  if  they  get  out 
of  touch  with  the  rest  we'll  make  a  try  at  nailing 
them.  Be  careful,  though,  how  you  show  yourself; 
there's  at  least  fifty  of  these  peacemakers  within 
four  or  five  miles,  and  a  shot  or  a  yell  will  bring 
them  on  a  high  run." 

Hicks  and  Bevans,  whatever  their  destination, 
were  in  no  haste.  They  rode  at  a  walk  most  of  the 
time,  and  we  were  forced  to  keep  the  same  pace. 


RAW  GOLD  191^ 


It  was  slow  work  poking  along  those  coulee-bottoms, 
now  and  then  making  a  risky  sneak  to  ground, 
whence  we  could  get  a  clear  view  of  the  game  we 
were  stalking  so  assiduously. 

Progressing  in  this  manner  we  finally  reached  the 
breaks  that  ran  down  to  Lost  River,  not  a  great 
distance  from  where  MacRae  and  I  had  kicked  over 
the  traces  of  legally  constituted  authority  the  pre- 
vious day.  Here  we  had  to  dodge  over  a  stretch 
of  ground  barren  of  concealment,  and  to  do  so 
waited  till  such  time  as  Hicks  and  Bevans  were 
themselves  in  the  depths  of  a  coulee. 

When  next  we  caught  sight  of  our  men — well,  to 
be  exact,  we  saw  only  one,  and  that  was  Bevans. 
He  had  stopped  his  horse  on  top  of  a  knoll  not  more 

than  four  hundred  yards  to  the  north  of  us,  and 
was  standing  up  in  his  stirrups  staring  over  the  ears 
of  his  horse  at  a  point  down  the  slope.  Hicks  had 
disappeared.  Nor  did  we  see  aught  of  him  during 
the  next  few  minutes  that  we  spent  glaring  at  Bev- 
ans and  the  surrounding  territory. 

"I  wonder  if  that  square- jawed  devil  has  got  a 


192  RAW  GOLD 


glimpse  of  us  and  is  trying  a  lone-handed  stalk  him- 
self ?"  I  hazarded. 

MacRae  shook  his  head.  "Not  likely,"  he  said. 
"If  it  was  Paul  Gregory,  now,  that's  the  very  thing 
he'd  do.    I  don't  quite  sabe  this  performance." 

We  watched  for  sign  of  Hicks,  but  without  re- 
sult. Then  Bevans  got  under  way  and  moved  along 
at  the  same  poky  gait  as  before.  When  he  had 
gone  some  distance  we  took  to  the  hollow.  Twenty 
minutes  jogging  brought  us  into  a  stretch  of  rough 
country,  a  series  of  knobs  and  ridges  cut  by  innu- 
merable coulees.  Here  it  became  necessary  to  locate 
Mr.  Bevans  again.  Once  more  he  was  revealed  on 
top  of  an  elevation,  studying  the  surrounding  land- 
scape, and  he  was  still  alone. 

"Where  the  mischief  can  Hicks  have  got  to?" 
Mac  growled.  "We  really  ought  to  smell  him  out 
before  we  do  anything." 

"Look,  now,"  I  said.  "Don*t  you  suppose  Bevans 
is  waiting  for  him?" 

Bevans  had  dismounted  and  stretched  himself  on 
the  ground  in  the  shade  of  his  horse.    But  he  was 


RAW  GOLD  193 


not  napping;  on  the  contrary,  he  was  very  much  on 
the  alert,  for  his  head  turned  slowly  from  side  to 
side,  quiescent  as  he  seemed;  there  would  be  little 
movement  pass  unobserved  within  range  of  that  pair 
of  eyes. 

"Maybe  he  is,"  MacRae  replied.  "Anyhow,  I 
think  we'd  better  wait  a  while  ourselves." 

For  nearly  an  hour  Bevans  kept  his  position. 
Hicks,  if  he  were  in  the  vicinity,  kept  closely  under 
cover.  Bevans  had  all  the  best  of  the  situation,  so 
far  as  being  able  to  keep  a  lookout  was  a  factor; 
the  opposite  bank  of  the  coulee  we  were  in  towered 
high  above  us,  and  shut  off  our  view  in  that  direc- 
tion. And  we  didn't  dare  risk  showing  ourselves 
on  high  ground.  Finally,  after  what  seemed  an 
interminable  period  of  waiting,  Mac's  patience  fraz- 
zled out  and  he  declared  for  action. 

"We're  doing  no  good  here,"  he  said.  "Hicks 
or  no  Hicks,  I'm  going  to  have  a  try  at  making 
connections  with  his  nibs  on  that  hill.  I  think  the 
coulee  right  under  his  perch  is  an  arm  of  the  one 


194  RAW  GOLD 


we're  in ;  runs  in  somewhere  below.  Maybe  we  can 
get  to  him  that  way.    It's  worth  trying." 

As  MacRae  had  surmised,  our  canyon  forked  be- 
low. We  turned  the  point  after  making  sure  that 
Bevans  couldn't  see  us  unless  he  moved.  But  the 
uncertain  beggar  had  moved,  and  moved  to  some 
purpose  we  quickly  learned;  for  when  we  next  laid 
eyes  on  him  he  was  out  on  the  extreme  point  of  the 
little  bench,  opposite  the  mouth  of  the  coulee  we 
had  ascended,  whirling  his  horse  about  in  cramped 
circles.  And  in  answer  to  his  signaling  a  full  score 
of  red-jacketed  riders  were  galloping  down  the 
ridges,  a  human  comb  that  bade  fair  to  rake  us  from 
our  concealment  in  a  scant  number  of  minutes. 

"Looks  bad  for  you  and  me,  old  boy,"  MacRae 
grinned.  "I  see  now  what  brother  Hicks  has  been 
up  to.  But  they  haven't  got  us  yet.  Whatever  hap- 
pens, Sarge,  don't  get  excited  and  go  to  shooting. 
We  can't  win  out  that  way,  against  this  combination. 
If  we  can't  dodge  and  outrun  them  we'll  have  to 
take  our  medicine.  Down  the  coulee  is  our  only 
chance.     There's  only  Bevans  to  stop  us;  and  it 


RAW  GOLD  195 


won't  really  matter  if  we  do  put  his  light  out — be 
one  thief  less  at  the  finish." 

Bevans,  however,  made  no  demonstration.  We 
just  got  a  mere  glimpse  of  him,  and  I  imagine  he 
was  nowise  anxious  to  try  heading  us  off,  whicK 
he  could  not  do  without  coming  into  the  open. 
Whipping  around  the  crooked  bends  at  top  speed, 
he  had  little  chance  to  pot  us,  and  I  think  he  had 
an  idea  that  we  would  cheerfully  pot  him  if  he  got 
in  the  way. 

We  mystified  them  somewhat,  and  gained  con- 
siderable ground,  by  that  sudden  dash,  but  it  wasn't 
long  before  they  were  in  full  cry  like  a  pack  of 
hounds,  and  the  carbines  began  to  pop  in  a  futile 
sort  of  way.  Mac  had  not  been  far  astray  when 
he  hazarded  the  guess  that  the  troop  would  have 
orders  to  shoot  on  sight,  for  they  began  to  peck  at 
us  the  moment  we  came  in  view.  We  had  just 
enough  of  a  start,  though,  and  our  mounts  were 
just  good  enough  and  fresh  enough  to  gradually 
draw  away  from  them.  And  as  we  were  then  out 
of  the  network  of  protecting  coulees  and  pattering 


196  RAW  GOLD 


over  the  comparative  level  of  Lost  River  bottoms, 
I  was  very  glad  that  we  were  beyond  carbine-range 
and  that  it  was  near  sundown. 

"Barring  accidents,  they  can't  get  up  on  us  now,'* 
Mac  declared.  "So  I  think  it'll  be  wise  to  keep 
south  along  the  open  bottoms.  If  they  see  us  split- 
ting the  breeze  down  Lost  River,  they  won't  look' 
for  us  to  bob  up  from  the  opposite  quarter  to- 
morrow. When  it  gets  dark  and  we're  far  enough 
ahead,  we  can  swing  into  the  hills.  That'll  fool 
them  plenty  for  to-night.  They'll  probably  try 
tracking  us  to-morrow,  but  I  reckon  they'll  find  that 
a  tough  job." 

They  kept  persistently  after  us,  and  we  were  more 
or  less  on  the  anxious  seat,  till  it  did  get  dark.  Then 
we  turned  sharp  to  the  left  and  gained  high  ground 
once  more,  congratulating  ourselves  on  so  easily 
getting  out  of  a  ticklish  place.  If  we  hadn't  moved 
up  on  Bevans  they  might  have  surrounded  us  before 
we  got  wind  of  them.  But  we'd  beaten  them  fairly, 
and  so  we  looked  back  through  the  dark  and 
laughed;  though  I'm  sure  we  had  no  ^articular 
cause  for  merriment. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

PIEGAN   TAKES   A    HAND. 

I  DON'T,  believe  a  detailed  account  of  how  we 
spent  that  night  would  be  classed  as  wildly  inter- 
esting; if  memory  serves  me  right,  it  was  a 
bleak,  hungry,  comfortless  passage  of  time,  and  I 
am  willing  to  let  it  go  at  that.  We  managed  to 
secure  a  buffalo  steak  for  breakfast.  No  man 
needed  to  starve  in  that  country  during  those  days 
of  plentiful  game;  but  we  were  handicapped  by  the 
necessity  of  doing  our  hunting  in  a  very  surrep- 
titious manner.  However,  we  didn't  starve;  the 
worst  we  experienced  was  an  occasional  period  of 
acute  hunger,  when  we  didn't  dare  fire  a  shot  for 
fear  of  revealing  our  whereabouts. 

Nor  can  I  see,  now,  where  we  accomplished  any- 
thing beyond  killing  time  the  following  day.  To 
be  sure,  we  scouted  faithfully,  and  once  or  twice 
came  perilously  near  being  caught  by  squads  of 


198  RAW  GOLD 


Mounted  Police  appearing  from  unexpected  quar- 
ters. Our  scouting  was  so  much  wasted  energy. 
We  got  nowhere  near  the  PoHce  camp;  we  failed 
to  get  a  glimpse  of  any  of  our  men;  and  so,  for  all 
we  knew  to  the  contrary,  they  might  have  loaded 
the  plunder  and  decamped  for  other  regions.  When 
night  again  spread  its  concealing  folds  about  us, 
we  had  only  one  tangible  fact  as  a  reward  for  our 
exertions — Lessard  had  returned  to  Fort  Walsh — 
presumably.  Early  that  morning,  escorted  by  four 
troopers,  he  had  crossed  Lost  River  and  disappeared 
in  the  direction  of  the  post  Of  his  identity  the 
field-glasses  assured  us.  But  that  was  the  sum  total 
of  our  acquired  knowledge,  and  it  brought  us  no 
nearer  the  breaking  up  of  the  Goodell-Gregory 
combination  or  the  recovery  of  the  loot. 

So  for  a  third  night  we  were  compelled  to  seek 
sanctuary  in  the  silent  canyons.  And  the  third  day 
brought  us  no  better  luck.  At  evening  we  were  con- 
strained to  admit  that  we  were  simply  butting  our 
heads  against  a  wall — with  an  ever-present  possi- 
bility of  the  wall  toppling  over  and  crushing  us  flat. 


RAW  GOLD  190^ 


Altogether,  we  spent  five  consecutive  days  hover- 
ing around  that  collection  of  law-enforcers,  in  im« 
minent  risk  of  capture.  Each  night  in  the  open  was 
more  cheerless  than  the  preceding  one,  and  each  day 
brought  the  same  sense  of  futile  effort  at  its  close. 
Twice  during  that  time  the  Police  camp  moved,  and 
we  had  to  be  wary,  for  they  scoured  the  surrounding 
territory  with  painstaking  thoroughness.  But  we 
felt  that  there  was  yet  a  chance  for  us  to  turn  the 
tables,  for  Goodell  was  still  with  the  troop,  and  also 
Gregory ;  we  saw  them  both  the  morning  of  the  fifth 
day. 

"It  beats  me  why  they're  pecking  around  over  the 
same  ground  so  much,"  ]\Iac  observed.  "I  suppose 
they're  looking  for  us,  but  I'm  pretty  sure  they 
haven't  had  a  glimpse  of  us  for  three  days,  and  so 
I  don't  see  why  they  should  think  we're  still  hanging 
around.  Logically,  if  we'd  got  that  bunch  of 
money,  we'd  be  getting  out  of  the  country.  Lord, 
I  do  wish  those  four  would  show  their  hand — make 
a  move  of  some  kind." 

"So  do  I,"  I  seconded.    "We're  not  doing  much 


200  RAW  GOLD 


good  that  I  can  see.  And  I  think  I  could  play  the 
game  with  a  heap  more  enthusiasm  if  I  had  some 
coffee  and  white  bread  under  my  belt  once  or  twice 
a  day.  We'll  go  hungry,  and  likewise  get  a  devilisH 
good  soaking  to-night,  or  I'm  badly  mistaken." 

We  had  checked  our  horses  on  the  summit  of  the 
divide  that  ran  down  to  Lost  River  on  one  side  and 
on  the  other  sloped  away  to  the  spptheast.  The 
wind  that  was  merely  a  breath  at  sundown  had 
gathered  strength  to  itself  and  now  swept  across 
the  hill-tops  with  a  resonant  roar,  piling  layer  on 
layer  of  murky  low-flying  clouds  into  a  dense  mass 
overhead.  Night,  black  as  the  bottomless  pit,  walled 
us  in.  A  fifty-mile  breeze  lashed  us  spitefully, 
tugging  at  our  shirt-sleeves  and  drowning  our 
voices,  while  we  halted  on  that  pinnacle.  By  the 
dank  breath  of  the  wind,  the  ominous  overcasting 
of  the  sky,  all  the  little  signs  that  a  prairie-wise  man 
learns  to  read,  we  knew  that  a  storm  was  close  at 
hand.  Shelter  there  was  none,  nor  food,  and  we 
stood  in  need  of  both. 

"You're  right,"  MacRae  admitted.     "But  how 


RAW  GOLD  201 


are  we  going  to  help  it?  We'll  just  have  to  grin 
and  tough  it  out." 

"I'll  tell  you  how  we'll  help  it,"  I  proposed  reck- 
lessly, shouting  to  make  myself  heard  above  the 
noisy  wind.  "We  can  go  down  and  tackle  that  bull- 
train  we  saw  pulling  along  the  foot  of  the  ridge. 
They'll  know  we're  on  the  dodge,  but  that  won't 
make  any  difference  to  them.  I  know  nearly  every 
bull-whacker  that  freights  out  of  Benton,  and 
they're  a  pretty  white  bunch.  If  it's  Baker's  outfit, 
especially,  we'll  be  welcome  as  flowers  in  May. 
You  said  they'd  likely  camp  at  that  spring — Ten 
Mile,  isn't  it?  What  d'ye  think?  Shall  we  go 
down  and  take  a  chance  ?  I  sure  don't  like  the  look 
of  things  up  here.  It's  going  to  be  a  rip-snorter  of 
a  night,  once  it  cuts  loose." 

"I'm  ready  to  go  against  nearly  anything,  right 
now,"  MacRae  frankly  owned.  "If  you  think  it's 
worth  trying,  why,  it's  a  go  with  me." 

"Let's  drift,  then,"  I  declared;  and  straightway 
we  turned  our  horses  broadside  to  the  wind  and 
tore  away  for  Ten  Mile  Spring  and  the  creature 


202  RAW  GOLD 


comforts  I  knew  were  to  be  had  at  the  white- 
sheeted  wagons  we  saw  crawling  slowly  along  the 
Stony  Crossing  trail  late  that  afternoon. 

As  Mac  had  calculated,  the  freight-train  was 
camped  at  the  Spring;  and  it  was  a  mighty  good 
thing  for  us  that  MacRae  knew  that  country  so 
well  or  we  would  never  have  found  them,  short  of 
riding  our  horses  to  a  standstill.  Long  before  we 
got  there  the  deep-throated  thunder  was  growling 
over  us,  and  the  clouds  spat  occasional  flurries  of 
rain. 

We  made  the  freight  camp,  however,  just  as  the 
storm  cut  loose  in  deadly  earnest.  Luckily  for  me, 
it  was  Baker's  outfit.  I  took  a  long  chance,  and 
stalked  boldly  in.  And  here  I  was  treated  to  a 
surprise,  one  that  afforded  both  MacRae  and  me 
considerable  food  for  thought ;  Horner,  the  wagon- 
boss,  a  man  I  knew  well,  frankly  declared  that  no 
one  at  Fort  Walsh  had  heard  that  we  were  accused 
of  robbery  and  murder.  For  that  matter,  he  said, 
he  didn't  care  a  tinker's  dam  if  we  were;  he  had 
grub  and  bedding  and  we  were  welcome  to  both. 


RAW  GOLD  203 


So  with  this  assurance  of  good-will  we  picketed 
our  horses  close  by  the  circle  of  wagons — where  we 
could  get  to  them  quickly  should  any  of  Lessard's 
troop  happen  into  the  camp — and  prepared  to  de- 
vour the  supper  Horner's  good-natured  cook  be- 
stirred himself  to  make  ready.  As  we  filled  our 
plates  and  squatted  under  the  canvas  that  sheltered 
the  cook's  Dutch-oven  layout,  a  man  under  the  hind 
end  of  the  chuck-wagon  propped  himself  on  elbow 
and  shouted  greeting  to  us.  In  the  semi-dark  I 
couldn't  see  his  face,  but  I  recognized  the  voice.  It 
was  our  friend  of  the  whisky-keg  episode,  Piegan 
Smith. 

"Hello,  thar,  fellers!"  he  bellowed  (Piegan  al- 
ways spoke  to  a  man  as  if  he  were  a  hundred  yards 
away).  "Say,  Flood,  yuh  ain't  been  t'  Benton  an* 
back  already,  have  yuh?" 

"Faith,  no,"  I  owned,  between  mouthfuls,  "and 
it's  hard  telling  when  I  will  get  there.  How  come 
you  to  be  pacing  along  this  trail,  Piegan?  Gone 
to  freighting  in  your  old  age?" 

"Not  what  yuh  could  notice,  I  ain't,"  he  snorted. 


204  RAW  GOLD 


"Catch  me  whackin'  bulls  for  a  livin' !  Naw,  I  sold 
my  outfit  to  a  goggle-eyed  pilgrim  that  has  an  idea 
buffalo  hides  is  prime  all  summer.  So  I'm  headed 
'for  Benton  to  see  if  I  kain't  stir  up  a  little  excite- 
ment now  an'  then,  to  pass  away  the  time  till  the 
fall  bufifalo-run  begins." 

"If  you're  looking  for  excitement,  Piegan,"  Mac- 
Rae  put  in  dryly,  "you'd  better  come  along  with  us. 
We'll  introduce  you  to  more  different  brands  of  it  in 
the  next  few  days  than  Benton  could  furnish  in  six 
months." 

"Maybe,"  Piegan  laughed.  "But  not  the  brand 
I'm  a-thirstin'  for." 

Mac  was  on  the  point  of  replying  when  there 
came  a  most  unexpected  interruption.  I  looked  up 
at  sound  of  a  startled  exclamation,  and  beheld  the 
round  African  physog  of  Lyn  Rowan's  colored 
mammy.  But  she'had  no  eyes  for  me;  she  stood 
like  a  black  statue  just  within  the  firelight,  a  tin 
bucket  in  one  hand,  staring  over  my  head  at  Mac- 
Rae. 

"Lawd  a-me!"  she  gulped  out.     "Ef  Ah  ain't 


RAW  GOLD  205 


sho'ly  laid  mah  ol'  eyes  on  Marse  Go'don.  Is  dat 
sho'  'nuf  yo',  wid  yo'  red  coat  an'  all  ?" 

"It  sure  is,  Mammy,"  Mac  answered.  **How 
does  it  happen  you're  traveling  this  way  ?  I  thought 
you  were  at  Fort  Walsh.    Is  Miss  Lyn  along?" 

"She  suttinly  am,"  Mam^my  Thomas  emphatically 
asserted.  "Yo'  doan  catch  dis  chile  a-mosyin'  obeh 
dese  yeah  plains  by  huh  lonesome.  Since  dey  done 
brought  Miss  Lyn's  paw  in  an'  planted  him,  she  say 
dey  ain't  no  use  foh  huh  to  stay  in  dis  yeah  red- 
coat country  no  longer;  so  we  all  packed  up  an' 
sta'ted  back  foh  de  Ian'  ob  de  free." 

MacRae,  I  am  sure,  was  no  more  than  half 
through  his  meal.  But  he  swallowed  the  coffee  in 
his  cup,  and  tossed  his  eating-implements  into  the 
cook's  wash-pan. 

"I'll  go  with  you,  Mammy,"  he  told  her.  "I  want 
to  see  Miss  Lyn  myself.'* 

"Jes'  a  minute,  Marse  Go'don,"  she  said.  "Ah's 
got  to  git  some  wa'm  watah  f'om  dis  yeah  Mr. 
Cook." 

The  cook  signaled  her  to  help  herself  from  the 


206  RAW  GOLD 


kettle  that  bubbled  over  the  fire,  and  she  filled  her 
bucket  and  disappeared,  chattering  volubly,  Mac- 
Rae  at  her  heels. 

I  finished  my  supper  more  deliberately.  There 
was  no  occasion  for  me  to  gobble  my  food  and  rusH 
off  to  talk  with  Lyn  Rowan.  MacRae,  I  suspected, 
would  be  inclined  to  monopolize  her  for  the  rest 
of  the  evening.  So  I  ate  leisurely,  and  when  done 
crawled  under  the  wagon  beside  Piegan  Smith  and 
gave  myself  up  to  cigarettes  and  meditation,  while 
over  his  pipe  Piegan  expressed  a  most  unflattering 
opinion  of  the  weather. 

It  was  a  dirty  night,  beyond  question;  one  that 
gave  color  to  Piegan's  prophesy  that  Milk  River 
would  be  out  of  its  banks  if  the  storm  held  till 
morning,  and  that  Baker's  freight-train  would  be 
stalled  by  mud  and  high  water  for  three  or  four 
days.  I  was  duly  thankful  for  the  shelter  we  had 
found.  A  tarpaulin  stretched  from  wheel  to  wheel 
of  the  wagon  shut  out  the  driving  rain  that  fled 
in  sheets  before  the  whooping  wind.  The  light- 
ning-play was  hidden  behind  the  drifting  cloud- 


RAW  GOLD  207 


bank,  for  no  glint  of  it  penetrated  the  gloom;  but 
the  cavernous  thunder-bellow  roared  intermittently, 
and  a  fury  of  rain  drove  slantwise  against  sodden 
earth  and  creaking  wagon-tops. 

If  the  next  two  hours  were  as  slow  in  passing, 
to  MacRae  and  Lyn,  as  they  seemed  to  me,  the  two 
of  them  had  time  to  dissect  and  discuss  the  hopes 
and  fears  and  errors  of  their  whole  existence,  and 
formulate  a  new  philosophy  of  life.  Piegan  broke 
a  long  silence  to  remark  sagely  that  if  Mac  was 
putting  in  all  this  time  talking  to  that  "yaller- 
headed  fairy,"  he  was  a  plumb  good  stayer. 

"They're  old  friends,"  I  told  him.  "Mac  knew 
her  long  ago;  and  all  her  people." 

"Well,  he's  in  darned  agreeable  company,"  Pie- 
gan observed.  "She's  a  mighty  fine  little  woman, 
far's  I've  seen.  I  dunno's  I'd  know  when  t'  jar 
loose  m'self,  if  I  knowed  her  an'  she  didn't  object 
t'  me  hangin'  around.  But  seein'  we  ain't  in  on  the 
reception,  we  might  as  well  get  under  the  covers, 
eh?    I  reckon  most  everybody  in  camp's  turned  in." 

Piegan  had  a  bulky  roll  of  bedding  under  the 


208  RAW  GOLD 


wagon.  Spread  to  its  full  width,  it  was  ample  for 
three  ordinary  men.  We  had  just  got  out  of  our 
outside  garments  and  were  snuggling  down  between 
the  blankets  when  Mac  came  slopping  through  the 
puddles  that  were  now  gathering  in  every  depres- 
sion. He  crawled  under  the  wagon,  shed  some  of 
his  clothing,  and  got  into  bed  with  us.  But  he 
didn't  lie  down  until  he  had  rolled  a  cigarette,  and 
then  instead  of  going  to  sleep  he  began  talking  to 
Piegan,  asking  what  seemed  to  me  a  lot  of  rather 
trifling  questions.  I  was  nearly  worn  out,  and 
their  conversation  was  nowise  interesting  to  me, 
so  listening  to  the  monotonous  drone  of  their  voices 
and  the  steady  beat  of  falling  rain,  I  went  to  sleep. 
Before  a  great  while  I  wakened;  to  speak  truth- 
fully, the  ungentle  voice  of  Piegan  Smith  brought 
me  out  of  dreamland  with  a  guilty  start.  MacRae 
was  still  sitting  up  in  bed,  and  from  that  part  of 
his  speech  which  filtered  into  my  ears  I  gathered 
that  he  was  recounting  to  Piegan  the  tale  of  our 
adventures  during  the  past  week.  I  thought  that 
odd,   for  Mac  was  a  close-mouthed  beggar  as  a 


RAW  GOLD  209 


general  thing;  but  there  was  no  valid  reason  why 
he  should  not  proclaim  the  story  from  the  hill-tops 
if  he  chose,  so  I  rolled  over  and  pulled  the  blankets 
above  my  head — to  protect  my  ear-drums  if  Pie- 
gan's  astonishment  should  again  find  verbal  ex- 
pression. 

The  cook's  battle-cry  of  "Grub  pi-i-ile"  wakened 
me  next.  A  thin  line  of  yellowish-red  in  the  east 
betokened  the  birth  of  another  day,  a  day  born  in 
elemental  turmoil,  for  the  fierce  wind  was  no  whit 
abated,  nor  the  sullen,  driving  rain. 

"I've  enlisted  a  recruit,"  MacRae  told  me  in  an 
undertone,  as  we  ate  breakfast.  "It  struck  me  that 
if  we  had  somebody  along  that  we  could  trust  to 
ride  into  that  Police  camp  with  his  mouth  shut  and 
his  ears  and  eyes  open,  we  might  find  out  something 
that  would  show  us  how  the  land  lay;  even  if  he 
accomplished  nothing  else,  he  could  learn  if  those 
fellows  are  still  with  the  troop." 

"That  was  why  you  were  making  that  talk  to 
Piegan  last  night,  was  it?"  I  said.  "Well,  from 
what  little  I've  seen  and  heard  of  him,  he'd  be  a 


210  RAW  GOLD 


whole  team  if  he's  willing  to  throw  in  with  us  and 
take  a  chance/'  Which  was  perfectly  true.  Old 
Piegan  had  the  reputation,  on  both  sides  of  the  line, 
of  loving  to  jump  into  a  one-sided  fight  for  the 
pure  joy  of  evening  up  the  odds.  He  was  a  bois- 
terous, rough-spoken  mortal,  but  his  heart  was  big, 
and  set  in  the  right  place.  And,  though  I  didn't 
know  it  then,  he  had  a  grouch  against  Hicks,  who 
had  once  upon  a  time  run  him  into  Fort  Walsh  in 
irons  on  an  unjustified  suspicion  of  whisky-running. 
That  was  really  what  started  Piegan  in  the  smug- 
gling business — a  desire  to  play  even,  after  getting 
what  he  called  a  "damn  rough  deal." 

"He's  willing  enough,"  Mac  assured  me.  "Aside 
from  the  fact  that  most  any  white  man  would  go 
out  of  his  way  to  help  a  girl  like  Lyn  Rowan, 
there's  the  certainty  that  the  Canadian  government 
will  be  pretty  generous  to  anybody  who  helps  round 
up  that  crooked  bunch  and  restore  the  stolen  money. 
Piegan  snorted  when  I  told  him  we  were  on  the 
dodge — that  they  were  trying  to  nail  us  for  holding 
up  the  paymaster.    That's  the  rottenest  part  of  the 


RAW  GOLD  211 


whole  thing.  I  think — but  then  we've  got  to  do 
more  than  think  to  get  ourselves  out  of  this  jack- 
pot." 

He  stopped  abruptly,  and  went  on  with  his  break- 
fast. By  the  time  we  were  done  eating,  the  gray 
light  of  a  bedraggled  morning  revealed  tiny  lakes 
in  every  hollow,  and  each  coulee  and  washout  was 
a  miniature  torrent  of  muddy  water — with  a  prom- 
ise of  more  to  come  in  the  murky  cloud-drift  that 
overcast  the  sky.  Horner  sent  out  two  men  to 
relieve  the  night-herders,  remarked  philosophically 
"More  rain,  more  rest,"  and  retired  to  the  shelter 
of  the  cook's  canvas.  His  drivers  sought  cover  in 
and  under  the  wagons,  where  they  had  spent  the 
night.  But  though  mud  and  swollen  streams  might 
hold  back  the  cumbrous  freight  outfit,  it  did  not 
follow  that  heavy  going  would  delay  the  flitting 
of  the  thieves,  if  they  planned  such  a  move;  nor 
would  it  prevent  the  Mounted  Police  from  descend- 
ing on  the  Baker  outfit  if  they  thought  we  had 
taken  refuge  there.     So  we  held  council  of  war 


212  RAW  GOLD 


with  Pieg-an,  after  which  we  saddled  up  and  made 
ready  to  tackle  the  soaked  prairies. 

While  we  were  packing  grub  and  bedding  on  Pie- 
gan's  extra  horse,  Lyn  joined  us,  wrapped  from 
head  to  heel  in  a  yellow  slicker.  And  by  the  way 
Mac  greeted  her  I  knew  that  they  had  bridged  that 
gap  of  five  years  to  their  mutual  satisfaction;  that 
she  was  loath  to  see  him  set  out  on  a  hazardous 
mission  she  presently  made  plain. 

"Let  it  go,  Gordon,"  she  begged.  "There's  been 
too  much  blood  shed  over  that  wretched  gold  al- 
ready. Let  them  have  it.  I  know  something  dread- 
ful will  happen  if  you  follow  it  up." 

MacRae  smiled  and  shook  his  head  stubbornly. 
"I'm  too  deep  in,  little  woman,  to  quit  now,"  he  told 
her  patiently.  "If  it  was  only  a  matter  of  your 
money,  we  could  get  along  without  it.  But  Sarge 
stands  to  lose  a  lot,  if  we  give  up  at  this  stage  of 
the  game.  And  besides,  I'd  always  be  more  or  less 
on  the  dodge  if  this  thing  isn't  cleared  up.  I've  got 
to  see  it  through.  You  wouldn't  have  me  sneak  out 
of  this  country  like  a  whipped  pup,  would  you? 


"there's  been  too  much  blood  shed  over  that  wretched  gold  already. 

LET  them  have  IT."  Page  212. 


RAW  GOLD  213 


There's  too  big  an  account  to  settle  with  those  fel- 
lows, Lyn;  it's  up  to  us,  if  we're  men.  I  can't  draw 
back  now,  till  it's  settled  for  good  and  all,  one  way 
or  the  other." 

*'0h,  I  know  how  you  feel  about  it,"  she  sighed. 
"But  even  if  it  comes  out  all  right,  you're  still  tied 
here.    You  know  they  won't  let  you  go." 

"Don't  you  worry  about  that,"  he  comforted. 
"I'll  cross  that  bridge  fast  enough  when  I  come  to 
it.  You  go  on  to  Benton,  like  a  good  girl.  I  feel 
it  in  my  bones  that  we're  going  to  have  better  luck 
from  now  on.  And  if  we  do,  you'll  see  us  ride 
down  the  Benton  hill  one  of  these  fine  mornings. 
Anyway,  I'll  send  you  word  by  Piegan  before  long." 

Piegan  was  already  mounted,  watching  us  whim- 
sically from  under  the  dripping  brim  of  his  hat. 
I  shook  hands  with  Lyn,  and  swung  into  my  saddle. 
And  when  Mac  had  kissed  her,  we  crowded  through 
a  gap  in  the  circle  of  wagons,  waved  a  last  good- 
by,  and  rode  away  in  the  steadily  falling  rain. 


CHAPTER  XVI.  ' 

] 

IN   THE    CAMP   OF   THE   ENEMY.  I 


FROM  then  until  near  noon  we  worked  our  pas- 
sage if  ever  men  did.  On  the  high  benches 
it  was  not  so  bad  for  the  springy,  porous  turf 
soaked  up  the  excessive  moisture  and  held  its  firm- 
ness tolerably  well.  But  every  bank  of  any  steep- 
ness meant  a  helter-skelter  slide  to  its  foot,  with 
either  a  bog-hole  or  swimming  water  when  we  got 
there,  and  getting  up  the  opposite  hill  was  like 
climbing  a  greased  pole — except  that  there  was  no 
purse  at  the  top  to  reward  our  perseverance.  Be- 
tween the  succeeding  tablelands  lay  gumbo  flats 
where  the  saturated  clay  hung  to  the  feet  of  our 
horses  like  so  much  glue,  or  opened  under  hoof- 
pressure  and  swallowed  them  to  the  knees.  So  that 
our  going  was  slow  and  wearisome. 

About  mid-day  the  storm  gradually  changed  from 
unceasing  downpour  to  squally  outbursts,  followed 


RAW  GOLD  215 


by  banks  of  impenetrable  fog  that  would  shut  down 
on  us  solidly  for  a  few  minutes,  then  vanish  like  the 
good  intentions  of  yesterday;  the  wind  switched  a 
few  points  and  settled  to  a  steady  gale  which  lashed 
the  spent  clouds  into  hurrying  ships  of  the  air, 
scudding  full-sail  before  the  droning  breeze.  Be- 
fore long  little  patches  of  blue  began  to  peep  warily 
through  narrow  spaces  above.  The  wind-blown 
rain-makers  lost  their  leaden  hue  and  became  a  soft 
pearl-gray,  all  fleecy  white  around  the  edges.  Then 
bars  of  wanri  sunshine  poured  through  the  widen- 
ing rifts  and  the  whole  rain-washed  land  lay  around 
us  like  a  great  checker-board  whereon  black  cloud- 
shadows  chased  each  other  madly  over  prairies  yel- 
low with  the  hot  August  sun  and  gray-green  in  the 
hollows  where  the  grass  took  on  a  new  lease  of  life. 
That  night  we  camped  west  of  Lost  River,  lying 
prudently  in  a  brush-grown  coulee,  for  we  were 
within  sight  of  the  Police  camp — by  grace  of  the 
field-glasses.  At  sundown  the  ground  had  dried 
to  such  a  degree  that  a  horse  could  lift  foot  without 
raising  with  it  an  abnormal  portion  of  the  North- 


216  RAW  GOLD 


west.  The  wind  veered  still  farther  to  the  south, 
blowing  strong  and  warm,  sucking  greedily  the  sur- 
plus moisture  from  the  saturated  earth.  So  we  re- 
solved ourselves  into  a  committee  of  ways  and 
means  and  decided  that  since  the  footing  promised 
to  be  normal  in  the  morning  the  troop  would  likely 
scatter  out,  might  even  move  camp,  and  therefore 
it  behooved  us  to  get  in  touch  with  them  at  once; 
accordingly  Piegan  rode  away  to  spend  the  night  in 
the  Police  tents,  with  a  tale  of  horses  strayed  from 
Baker's  outfit  to  account  for  his  wandering.  From 
our  nook  in  the  ridge  he  could  easily  make  it  by 
riding  a  little  after  dark. 

"Goodell  and  Gregory  and  Hicks  you  know,'** 
said  MacRae.  "Bevans  is  a  second  edition  of  Hicks, 
only  not  so  tall  by  two  or  three  inches — a  square- 
shouldered,  good-looking  brute,  with  light  hair  and 
steel-gray  eyes  and  a  short  brown  mustache.  He 
has  an  ugly  scar — a  knife-cut — across  the  baclc  of 
one  hand;  you  can't  mistake  him  if  you  get  sight 
of  him.  Stick  around  the  camp  in  the  morning  if 
you  can  manage  it,  till  they  start,  and  notice  which 


RAW  GOLD  217 


way  all  those  fellows  go.  The  sooner  we  get  our 
hands  on  one  or  more  of  them  the  better  we'll  be 
able  to  get  at  the  bottom  of  this ;  I  reckon  we  could 
find  a  way  to  make  him  talk.  Of  course,  if  any- 
thing out  of  the  ordinary  comes  up  you'll  have  to 
use  your  own  judgment;  you  know  just  as  much  as 
we  do,  now.  And  we'll  wait  here  for  you  unless 
they  jump  us  up.  In  that  case  we'll  try  and  round 
up  somewhere  between  here  and  Ten  Mile." 

"Right  yuh  are,  old-timer,"  Piegan  responded. 
"I'll  do  the  best  I  can.  Yuh  want  t'  keep  your  eye 
glued  t'  that  peep-glass  in  the  mornin',  and  not  over- 
look no  motions.  Yuh  kain't  tell  what  might  come 
up.    So-long!"    And  away  he  went. 

When  he  was  gone  from  sight  we  built  a  tiny 


fire  in  the  scrub — for  it  was  twilight,  at  which  time 
keen  eyes  are  needed  to  detect  either  smoke  or  fire, 
except  at  close  range — and  cooked  our  supper.  That 
done,  we  smothered  what  few  embers  remained  and 
laid  us  down  to  sleep.  That  wasn't  much  of  a  suc- 
cess, however.  We  had  got  into  action  again,  with 
more  of  a  chance  to  bring  about  certain  desired 


218  RAW   GOLD 


results,  and  inevitably  we  laid  awake  reckoning  up 
the  chances  for  and  against  a  happy  conclusion  to 
our  little  expedition. 

''It's  a  wonder,"  I  said,  as  the  thought  occurred 
to  me,  ''that  Lyn  quit  Walsh  so  soon.  Why  didn't 
she  sta}^  a  while  longer  and  see  if  these  famous  pre- 
servers of  the  peace  wouldn't  manage  to  gather  in 
the  men  who  killed  her  father?  Why,  hang  it!  she 
didn't  even  wait  to  see  if  you  found  that  stuff  at 
the  Stone — and  Lessard  must  have  told  her  that 
somebody  had  gone  to  look  for  it." 

Mac  snapped  out  an  oath  in  the  dark.  "Lessard 
simply  lost  his  head,"  he  growled.  "Damn  him! 
He  told  her  that  he  had  sent  us  to  look  for  it,  and 
that  we  had  taken  advantage  of  the  opportunity  to 
rob  the  paymaster.  Oh,  he  painted  us  good  and 
black,  I  tell  you.  Then  he  had  the  nerve  to  ask  her 
to  marry  him.  And  he  was  so  infernally  insistent 
about  it,  that  she  was  forced  to  pull  up  and  get  away 
from  the  post  in  self-defense.  That's  why  she  left 
so  suddenly." 

Well,  I  couldn't  find  it  in  my  heart  to  blame 


RAW  GOLD  219 


Lessard  for  that  last,  so  long  as  he  acted  the  gentle- 
man about  it.  In  fact,  it  was  to  be  expected  of  al- 
most any  man  who  happened  to  be  thrown  in  con- 
tact with  Lyn  Rowan  for  any  length  of  time.  I 
can't  honestly  lay  claim  to  being  absolutely  immune 
myself;  only  my  attack  had  come  years  earlier,  and 
had  not  been  virulent  enough  to  make  me  indulge 
in  any  false  hopes.  It's  no  crime  for  an  unattached 
man  to  care  for  a  woman;  but  naturally,  MacRae 
would  be  prejudiced  against  any  one  who  laid  siege 
to  a  castle  he  had  marked  for  his  own.  I  had  dis- 
liked that  big,  autocratic  major,  too,  from  our  first 
meeting,  but  it  was  pure  instinctive  antipathy  on  my 
part,  sharpened,  perhaps,  by  his  outrageous  treat- 
ment of  MacRae. 

We  dropped  the  subject  forthwith.  Lessard's 
relation  to  the  problem  was  a  subject  we  had  so  far 
shied  around.  It  was  beside  the  point  to  indulge  in 
footless  theory.  We  knew  beyond  a  doubt  who 
were  the  active  agents  in  every  blow  that  had  been 
struck,  and  the  first  move  in  the  tangle  we  sought  to 
unravel  was  to  lay  hands  on  them,  violently  if  neces- 


220  RAW  GOLD 


sary,  and  through  them  recover  the  stolen  money. 
Only  by  having  that  in  our  possession — so  MacRae 
argued — could  we  hope  tp  gain  credible  hearing, 
and  when  that  was  accomplished  whatever  part 
Lessard  had  played  would  develop  of  itself. 

By  and  by,  my  brain  wearied  with  fruitless  specu- 
lation, I  began  to  doze,  and  from  then  till  daylight 
I  slept  in  five-minute  snatches. 

Dawn  brought  an  access  of  caution,  and  we  for- 
bore building  a  fire.  Our  horses,  which  we  had 
picketed  in  the  open  overnight,  we  saddled  and  tied 
out  of  sight  in  the  brush.  Then  we  ate  a  cold  break- 
fast and  betook  ourselves  to  the  nearest  hill-top, 
where,  screened  by  a  huddle  of  rocks,  we  could 
watch  for  the  coming  of  Piegan  Smith;  and,  inci- 
dentally, keep  an  eye  on  the  redcoat  camp,  though 
the  distance  was  too  great  to  observe  their  move- 
ments with  any  degree  of  certainty.  The  most  im- 
portant thing  was  to  avoid  letting  a  bunch  of  them 
ride  up  on  us  unheralded. 

**TheyVe  not  setting  the  earth  afire  looking  for 
anybody,"  Mac  declared,  when  the  sun  was  well 


RAW  GOLD  221 


started  on  its  ante-meridian  journey  and  there  was 
still  no  sign  of  riders  leaving  the  cluster  of  tents. 
"Ah,  there  they  go." 

A  squad  of  mounted  men  in  close  formation,  so 
that  their  scarlet  jackets  stood  out  against  the  dun 
prairie  like  a  flame  in  the  dark,  rode  away  from  the 
camp,  halted  on  the  first  hill  an  instant,  then  scat- 
tered north,  south,  and  west.  After  that  there  was 
no  visible  stir  around  the  white-sheeted  commissary. 

"They're  not  apt  to  disturb  us  if  they  keep  going 
the  opposite  direction,"  Mac  reflected,  his  eyes  con- 
ning them  through  the  glasses.  "And  neither  do 
they  appear  to  be  going  to  move  camp.  Therefore, 
we'll  be  likely  to  see  Piegan  before  long." 

But  it  was  some  time  ere  we  laid  eyes  on  that 
gentleman.  We  didn't  see  him  leaving  the  camp — 
which  occasioned  us  no  uneasiness,  because  a  lone 
rider  could  very  well  get  away  from  there  unseen 
by  us,  especially  if  he  was  circumspect  in  his  choice 
of  routes,  as  Piegan  would  probably  be.  Only 
when  two  hours  had  dragged  by,  and  then  two 
more,  did  we  begin  to  get  anxious.    I  was  lying  on 


222  RAW  GOLD 


my  back,  staring  up  at  the  sky,  all  sorts  of  possible 
misfortune  looming  large  on  my  mental  horizon, 
when  MacRae,  sweeping  the  hills  with  the  glasses, 
grunted  satisfaction,  and  I  turned  my  head  in  time 
to  see  Piegan  appear  momentarily  on  high  ground 
a  mile  to  the  south  of  us. 

"What's  he  doing  off  there?"  I  wondered.  "Do 
you  suppose  somebody's  following  him,  that  he 
thinks  it  necessary  to  ride  clear  around  us?" 

"Hardly ;  but  you  can  gamble  that  he  isn't  riding 
for  his  health,"  Mac  responded.  "Anyway,  you'll 
soon  know ;  he's  turning." 

Piegan  swung  into  the  coulee  at  a  fast  lope,  and 
we  stole  carefully  down  to  meet  him.  In  the  brush 
that  concealed  our  horses  Piegan  dismounted,  and, 
seating  himself  tailor-fashion  on  the  ground,  began 
to  fill  his  pipe. 

"First  thing,"  said  he,  "we're  a  little  behind  the 
times.  Your  birds  has  took  wing  and  flew  the 
coop." 

"Took  wing — ^how?    And  when?"  we  demanded. 


RAW   GOLD  223 


"You'll  sabe  better,  I  reckon,  if  I  tell  yuh  just 
how  I  made  out,"  Piegan  answered,  after  a  pause 
to  light  his  pipe.  "When  I  got  there  last  night  they 
was  most  all  asleep.  But  this  mornin'  I  got  a  chance 
to  size  up  the  whole  bunch,  and  nary  one  uh  them 
jaspers  I  wanted  t'  see  was  in  sight.  So  whilst  we 
was  eatin'  breakfast  I  begins  t'  quiz,  an',  one  way 
an'  another,  lets  on  I  wanted  t'  see  that  Injun  scout. 
One  feller  up  an'  tells  me  he  guess  I'll  find  the  breed 
at  Fort  Walsh,  most  likely.  After  a  while  I  hears 
more  talk,  an'  by  askin'  a  few  innocent  questions  I 
gets  next  t'  some  more.  Puttin'  this  an'  that  to- 
gether, this  here's  the  way  she  stacks  up:  Lessard, 
as  you  fellers  took  notice,  went  in  t'  Walsh,  takin' 
several  men  with  him,  Gregory  bein'  among  the  lot. 
He  leaves  orders  that  these  fellers  behind  are  t' 
comb  the  country  till  he  calls  'em  ofiF.  Yesterday 
mornin',  in  the  thick  uh  the  storm,  a  buck  trooper 
arrives  from  Walsh,  bearin'  instructions  for  Good- 
ell,  Hicks  an'  another  feller,  which  I  reckon  is  Bev- 
ans.  So  when  she  clears  up  a  little  along  towards 
noon,  these  three  takes  a  packadero  layout  an'  starts, 


224  RAW  GOLD 


presumable  for  Medicine  Lodge.     An'  that's  all  I 
found  out  from  the  Policemen." 

"Scattered  them  around  the  country,  eh?"  Mac 
commented.    "Damn  it,  we're  just  as  far  behind  as 


ever. 


jj 


Hold  your  bosses  a  minute,"  Piegan  grinned 
knowingly.  "I  said  that  was  all  I  found  out  from 
the  red  jackets — but  I  did  a  little  prognosticatin' 
on  my  own  hook.  I  figured  that  if  them  fellers  hit 
the  trail  yesterday  afternoon  as  soon  as  the  storm 
let  up,  they'd  make  one  hell  of  a  good  plain  track  in 
this  sloppy  goin',  an'  I  was  curious  t'  see  if  they  lit 
straight  for  the  Lodge.  So  when  the  bunch  got 
out  quite  a  ways,  I  quits  the  camp  an'  swings  round 
in  a  wide  circle — an'  sure  enough  they'd  left  their 
mark.  Three  riders  an'  two  pack-hosses.  Easy 
trackin'?  Well,  I  should  say!  They'd  cut  a  trail 
in  them  doby  flats  like  a  bunch  uh  gallopin'  buffalo. 
Say,  where  is  Medicine  Lodge?" 

"Oh,  break  away,  Piegan,"  Mac  impatiently  ex- 
claimed. "What  are  you  trying  to  get  at?  You 
know  where  the  Lodge  is  as  well  as  I  do.'* 


RAW  GOLD  225 


"Well,  I  always  thought  I  knowed  where  'twas," 
Piegan  retorted  spiritedly,  a  wicked  twinkle  in  his 
shrewd  old  eyes.  "But  it  must  'a'  changed  location 
lately,  for  them  fellers  rode  north  a  ways,  an'  then 
kept  swingin'  round  till  they  was  headin'  due  south- 
east. I  follered  their  trail  t'  where  yuh  seen  me 
turn  this  way,  if  yuh  was  watchin'.  Poor  devils" — 
Piegan  grinned  covertly  while  voicing  this  mock 
S3rmpathy — "they  must  'a'  got  lost,  I  reckon.  It 
really  ain't  safe  for  such  pilgrims  t'  be  cavortin' 
over  the  prairies  with  all  that  boodle  In  their  jeans. 
I  reckon  we'll  just  naturally  have  t'  pike  along  after 
'em  an'  take  care  of  it  ourselves.  They  ain't  got 
such  a  rip-roarin'  start  of  us — an'  I'm  the  boy  can 
foller  that  track  from  hell  t'  breakfast  an'  back 
again.  So  let's  eat  a  bite,  an'  then  straddle  our 
cdballos  for  some  tall  ridin'." 


CHAPTER  XVIL 

A   MASTER-STROKE   OF   VILLAINY. 

PI  EG  AN  shortly  proved  that  he  made  no  vain 
boast  when  he  asserted  his  abihty  to  follow 
their  track.  A  lifetime  on  the  plains,  and  a 
natural  fitness  for  the  life,  had  made  him  ov/n 
brother  to  the  Indian  in  the  matter  of  nosing  out 
dim  trails.  The  crushing  of  a  tuft  of  grass,  a 
broken  twig,  all  the  half-hidden  signs  that  the  feet 
of  horses  and  men  leave  behind,  held  a  message  for 
him ;  nothing,  however  slight,  escaped  his  eagle  eye. 
And  he  did  it  subconsciously,  without  perceptible 
effort.  The  surpassing  skill  of  his  tracking  did  not 
strike  me  forcibly  at  first,  for  I  can  read  an  open 
trail  as  well  as  the  average  cowman,  and  the  mark 
of  their  passing  lay  plain  before  us ;  the  veriest  pil- 
grim, new  come  from  graded  roads  and  fenced  pas- 
tures, could  have  counted  the  number  of  their  steps 
•—each  hoof  had  stamped  its  impression  in  the  soft 


RAW  GOLD  227 


loam  as  clearly  as  a  steel  die-cut  in  soaked  leather. 
But  that  was  where  they  had  ridden  while  the  land 
was  still  plastic  from  the  rain.  Farther,  wind  and 
sun  had  dried  the  ridge-turf  to  its  normal  firmness 
and  baked  the  dobe  flats  till  in  places  they  were 
of  their  old  flinty  hardness.  Yet  Piegan  crossed  at 
a  lope  places  where  neither  MacRae  nor  I  could 
glimpse  a  sign — and  when  we  would  come  again 
to  soft  ground  the  trail  of  the  tliree  would  rise  up 
to  confront  us,  and  bid  us  marvel  at  the  keenness 
of  his  vision.    He  had  a  gift  that  we  lacked. 

We  followed  in  the  wake  of  Piegan  Smith  with 
what  speed  the  coulee-gashed  prairie  permitted,  and 
about  three  o'clock  halted  for  half  an  hour  to  let 
our  horses  graze;  we  had  been  riding  steadily  over 
four  hours,  and  it  behooved  us  to  have  some  thought 
for  our  mounts.  Within  ten  minutes  of  starting 
again  we  dipped  into  a  wide-bottomed  coulee  and 
came  on  the  place  where  the  three  had  made  their 
first  night-camp — a  patch  of  dead  ashes,  a  few  half- 
burned  sticks,  and  the  close-cropped  grass-plots 
where  each  horse  had  circled  a  picket-pin. 


228  RAW  GOLD 


Beyond  these  obvious  signs,  there  was  nothing  to 
see.  Nothing,  at  least,  that  I  could  see  except  faint 
tracks  leading  away  from  the  spot.  These  we  had 
followed  but  a  short  distance  when  Piegan,  who  was 
scrutinizing  the  ground  with  more  care  than  he  had 
before  shown,  pulled  up  with  an  exclamation. 

"Blamed  if  they  ain't  got  company,  from  the  look' 
uh  things,"  he  grunted,  squinting  down.  "I  thought 
that  was  considerable  of  a  trail  for  them  t'  make. 
lYou  fellers  wait  here  a  minute.  I  want  t*  find  out 
which  way  them  tracks  come  in." 

He  loped  back,  swinging  in  north  of  the  camp- 
ground. While  he  was  gone,  MacRae  and  I  leaned 
over  in  our  saddles  and  scanned  closely  the  grass- 
carpeted  bottom-land.  That  the  hoofs  of  passing 
horses  had  pressed  down  the  rank  growth  of  grass 
was  plain  enough,  but  whether  the  hoofs  of  six  or  a 
dozen  we  could  only  guess.  Piegan  turned,  rode  to 
where  they  had  built  their  fire,  circled  the  place, 
then  came  back  to  us. 

"All  right,"  he  said.  *T  was  sure  there  was  more 
livestock  left  that  campin'-place  than  we  followed 


RAW  GOLD  229 


in.  They  come  from  the  north — four  hosses,  two 
uh  them  rode  an'  the  other  two  led,  I  think,  from 
the  way  they  heaved  around  a-crossin'  a  washout 
back  yonder." 

A  mile  or  so  farther  we  crossed  a  bare  sandy 
stretch  on  the  flat  bottom  of  another  coulee,  and  on 
its  receptive  surface  the  trail  lay  like  a  printed  page 
»^nine  distinct,  separate  horse-tracks. 

"Five  riders  an'  four  extra  hosses,  if  I  ain't  read 
the  sign  wrong,"  Piegan  casually  remarked.  "Say, 
we'll  have  our  hands  full  if  we  bump  into  this  bunch 
unexpected,  eh?" 

"They'll  make  short  work  of  us  if  they  get  half  a 
chance,"  Mac  agreed.  "But  we'll  make  it  a  surprise 
party  if  we  can." 

From  there  on  Piegan  set  a  pace  that  taxed  our 
horses'  mettle — that  was  one  consolation — we  were 
well  mounted.  All  three  of  us  were  good  for  a 
straightaway  chase  of  a  hundred  miles  if  it  came  to 
a  showdown.  Piegan  knew  that  we  must  do  our 
trailing  in  daylight,  and  rode  accordingly.  He  kept 
their  trail  with  little  effort,  head  cocked  on  one  side 


^230  RAW  GOLD 


like  a  saucy  meadowlark,  and  whistled  snatches  of 
**Hell  Among  the  Yearlin's,"  as  though  the  prospect 
of  a  sanguinary  brush  with  thieves  was  pleasing  in 
the  extreme. 

The  afternoon  was  on  its  last  lap  when  we  came 
in  sight  of  Stony  Crossing.  The  trail  we  followed 
wound  along  the  crest  of  a  ridge  midway  between 
the  Crossing  and  Ten  Mile  Spring,  where  we  had 
left  Baker's  outfit  that  rainy  morning.  The  freight- 
ers had  moved  camp,  but  the  mud  and  high  water 
had  held  them,  for  we  could  see  the  white-sheeted 
wagons  and  a  blur  of  cattle  by  the  cottonwood 
grove  where  Hank  Rowan  had  made  his  last  stand. 
Presently  we  crossed  the  trail  made  by  the  string  of 
wagons;  it  was  fresh;  made  that  morning,  I  judged. 
A  little  farther,  on  a  line  between  the  Crossing  and 
the  Spring,  Piegan  pulled  up  again,  and  this  time 
the  cause  of  his  halting  needed  no  explanation. 
The  bunch  had  stopped  and  tarried  there  a  few 
minutes,  as  the  jumbled  hoof-marks  bore  witness, 
and  the  track  of  two  horses  led  away  toward  Ten 
Mile  Spring. 


RAW  COLD  231 


"Darn  it  all!"  Piegan  grumbled.  "Now,  what 
d'yuh  reckon's  the  meanin'  uh  that?  Them  two 
has  lit  straight  for  where  Baker's  layout  was  camped 
this  mornin'.  What  for?  Are  they  pullin'  out  uh 
the  country  with  the  coin?  Or  are  they  lookin'  for 
you  fellers?" 

"Well" — MacRae  thought  a  moment — "consider- 
ing the  care  they've  taken  to  cover  up  their  move- 
ments, I  don't  see  what  other  object  they  could 
have  in  view  but  making  a  smooth  getaway. 
They've  worked  it  nicely  all  around.  You  know 
that  if  there  was  anything  they  wanted  they  weren't 
taking  any  risk  by  going  to  any  freight  camp. 
We're  the  only  men  in  the  country  that  know  why 
they  are  pulling  out  this  way — and  they  know  that 
we  daren't  go  in  and  report  it,  because  they've 
managed  to  put  us  on  the  dodge.  They  have  reason 
to  be  sure  that  headquarters  wouldn't  for  a  minute 
listen  to  a  yarn  like  we'd  have  to  tell — they'd  have 
time  to  ride  to  Mexico,  while  we  sucked  our  thumbs 
in  the  guardhouse  waiting  for  the  rest  of  the  Police 
to  get  wise  by  degrees." 


232  RAW  GOLD 


"Then  I  tell  yuh  what  let's  do,"  Piegan  abruptly 
decided.  "I  like  t'  know  what's  liable  t'  happen 
when  I'm  on  a  jaunt  uh  this  kind.  One  of  us  better 
head  in  for  the  Crossin'  an'  find  out  for  sure  if  any 
uh  them  fellers  come  t'  the  camp,  an'  what  he 
wanted  there.  An'  seein'  nobody  outside  uh  Homer 
knows  I'm  in  on  this  play,  I  reckon  I  better  go 
m'self.  If  there  should  happen  t'  be  a  stray  trooper 
hangin'  round  there,  the  same  would  be  mighty 
awkward  for  you  fellers.  So  I'll  go.  You  poke 
along  the  trail  slow,  an'  I'll  overhaul  yuh." 

"All  right,"  MacRae  agreed,  and  Piegan  forth- 
with departed  for  the  Crossing. 

After  Piegan  left  us  we  rode  at  a  walk,  and  even 
then  it  was  something  of  a  task  to  follow  the  faint 
impression.  In  the  course  of  an  hour  a  cluster  of 
dark  objects  appeared  on  the  bench,  coming  rapidly 
toward  us.  MacRae  brought  the  glasses  to  bear  on 
them  at  once,  for  there  was  always  the  unpleasant 
possibility  of  Mounted  Policemen  cutting  in  on  our 
trail;  the  riders  of  every  post  along  the  line  were 
undoubtedly  on  the  watch  for  us. 


RAW  GOLD  233 


"It's  Piegan  and  another  fellow,"  Mac  announced 
shortly.  "They're  leading  two  extra  horses,  and 
Piegan  has  changed  mounts  himself.  I  wonder 
what's  up — they  seem  to  be  in  a  dickens  of  a  hurry." 

We  got  off  and  waited  for  them,  wondering  what 
the  change  of  horses  might  portend.  They  swung 
down  to  us  on  a  run,  and  it  needed  no  second  glance 
at  the  features  of  Piegan  Smith  to  know  that  he 
brought  with  him  a  fresh  supply  of  trouble.  His 
scraggly  beard  was  thrust  forward  aggressively,  and 
his  deep-set  eyes  fairly  blazed  between  narrowed  lids. 

"Slap  your  saddles  on  them  fresh  bosses,"  he 
grated  harshly  from  the  back  of  a  deep-chested, 
lean-flanked  gray.  "Let  the  others  go — to  hell  if 
they  want  to !" 

"What's  up?"  I  asked  sharply,  and  MacRae  flung 
the  same  query  over  one  shoulder  as  he  fumbled 
at  the  tight-drawn  latigo-knot. 

Piegan  rose  in  his  stirrups  and  raised  a  clenched 
fist;  the  seamed  face  of  him  grew  purple  under  its 
tan,  and  the  words  came  out  like  the  challenge  of 
a  range-bull. 


234  RAW   GOLD 


''Them — them has  got  your  girl!" 

he  roared. 

The  latigo  dropped  from  MacRae's  hand. 
*'What?"  he  turned  on  Piegan  savagely,  incredu- 
lously. 

"I  said  it — I  said  it !  Yuh  heard  me,  didn't  yuh !" 
Piegan  shouted.  "This  mornin'  about  sunrise. 
That  Hicks — the  damned  —  —  —  he  come  t* 
Baker's  as  they  hooked  up  t'  leave  the  Spring.  He 
had  a  note  for  her,  an'  she  dropped  everything  an' 
jumped  on  a  hoss  he'd  brought  an'  rode  away  with 
him,  cryin'  when  she  left.  He  told  Horner  you'd 
bin  shot  resistin'  arrest,  an'  wanted  t'  see  her  afore 
yuh  cashed  in.  They  ain't  seen  hide  nor  hair  uh 
her  since.  Aw,  don't  stand  starin'  at  me  thataway. 
Hurry  up!  They  ain't  got  twelve  hours'  start — an' 
by  God  I'll  smell  'em  out  in  the  dark  for  this !" 

It  was  like  a  knife-thrust  in  the  back;  such  a 
devilish  and  unexpected  turn  of  affairs  that  for 
half  a  second  I  had  the  same  shuddery  feeling  that 
came  to  me  the  night  I  stooped  over  Hans  Rutter 
and  gasped  at  sight  of  what  the  fiends  had  done. 


RAW  GOLD  235 


MacRae  whitened,  but  the  full  import  of  Piegan's 
words  stunned  him  to  silence.  The  bare  possibility: 
of  Lyn  Rowan  being  at  the  dubious  mercy  of  those 
ruthless  brutes  was  something  that  called  for  mord 
than  mere  words.  He  hesitated  only  a  moment, 
nervously  twisting  the  saddle-strings  with  one  hand, 
then  straightened  up  and  tore  loose  the  cinch  fasten- 
ing. 

After  that  outburst  of  Piegan's  no  one  spoke. 
While  Mac  and  I  transferred  our  saddles  to  the 
Baker  horses,  Piegan  swung  down  from  his  gray 
and,  opening  the  pack  on  the  horse  we  had  been 
leading,  took  out  a  little  bundle  of  flour  and  bacon 
and  coffee  and  tied  it  behind  the  cantle  of  his  saddle. 
A  frying-pan  and  coffee-pot  he  tossed  to  me.  Then 
we  mounted  and  took  to  the  trail  again,  stripped 
down  to  fighting-trim,  unhampered  by  a  pack-horse. 

Of  daylight  there  yet  remained  a  scant  two  hours 
in  which  we  could  hope  to  distinguish  a  hoof-mark. 
Piegan  leaned  over  his  saddle-horn  and  took  hills 
and  hollows,  wherever  the  trail  led,  with  a  rush 
that  unrolled  the  miles  behind  us  at  a  marvelous 


236  RAW  GOLD 


rate.  For  an  hour  we  galloped  silently,  matching 
the  speed  of  fresh,  wiry  horses  against  the  dying 
day,  no  sound  arising  in  that  wilderness  of  brown 
coulee  banks  and  dun-colored  prairie  but  the  steady 
beat  of  hoofs,  and  the  purr  of  a  rising  breeze  from 
the  east.  Then  I  became  aware  that  Piegan,  watch- 
ing the  ground  through  half-closed  eyelids,  was 
speaking  to  us.  From  riding  a  little  behind,  to  give 
him  room  to  trail,  we  urged  our  horses  alongside. 

"Them  fellers  at  Baker's  camp,"  he  said,  without 
looking  up,  "would  'a'  come  in  a  holy  minute  if 
there'd  been  bosses  for  'em  t'  ride.  But  they  only 
had  enough  saddle-stock  along  t'  wrangle  the  bulls 
— an'  I  took  three  uh  the  best  they  had.  Three  of 
us  is  enough,  anyhow.  We  kain't  ride  up  on  them 
fellers  now  an'  go  t'  shootin'.  They're  all  together 
again.  I  seen,  back  a  ways,  where  them  two  hoss- 
tracks  angled  back  from  the  spring.  They  must  'a' 
laid  up  at  that  camp  we  passed  till  sometime  before 
daylight — seein'  that  damned  Hicks  come  t'  Baker's 
early  this  mornin'.  An'  if  they  didn't  travel  very 
fast  t'-day — ^which  ain't  likely,  'cause  they  probably 


RAW  GOLD  237 


€i 


>_> 


figure  they're  dead  safe,  and  their  track  don't  show 
a  fast  gait — there's  just  a  chance  that  we'll  hit  'em 
by  dark  if  we  burn  the  earth.  We're  good  for  thirty 
miles  before  night  covers  up  their  track.  Don't  yuh 
worry  none,  old  boy,"  he  bellowed  at  MacRae. 
Old  Injun  Smith'll  see  yuh  through.  God!  I  could 
a*  cried  m*self  when  I  hit  that  camp  an'  the  old 
nigger  woman  went  t'  bawlin'  when  I  told  her  yuh 
was  both  out  on  the  bench,  sound  as  a  new  dollar. 
That  was  the  first  they  suspicioned  anythin'  was 
wrong.    Them  dirty,  low-lived !" 

Piegan  lapsed  into  a  string  of  curses.  MacRae, 
apparently  unmoved,  nodded  comprehension.  But 
I  knew  what  he  was  thinking,  and  I  knew  that 
when  once  we  got  within  striking  distance  of  Hicks, 
Gregory  &  Co.,  there  would  be  new  faces  in  hell 
without  delay. 

We  slowed  our  horses  to  a  walk  to  ascend  an 
abrupt  ridge.  When  we  gained  the  top  a  vast 
stretch  of  the  Northwest  spread  away  to  the  east 
and  north.  Piegan  lifted  his  eyes  from  the  trail  for 
an  instant. 


238  RAW  GOLD 


*'Great  Lord!"  he  said.  "Look  at  the  buffalo. 
It'll  be  good-by  t'  these  tracks  before  long." 

As  far  as  the  eye  could  reach  the  prairie  was 
speckled  with  the  herds,  speckled  with  groups  of 
buffalo  as  the  sky  is  dotted  with  clusters  of  bright 
stars  on  a  clear  night.  They  moved,  drifting  slowly, 
in  a  southerly  direction,  here  in  sharply  defined 
groups,  there  in  long  lines,  farther  in  indistinct 
masses.  But  they  moved ;  and  the  air  that  filled  our 
nostrils  was  freighted  with  the  tang  of  smoke. 

We  did  not  halt  on  the  ridge.  There  was  no  need. 
We  knew  without  speculating  what  the  buffalo-drift 
and  the  smoke-tinged  air  presaged;  and  it  bade  us 
make  haste  before  the  tracks  were  quite  obliterated. 

So  with  the  hill  behind  us,  and  each  of  us  keeping 
his  thoughts  to  himself — none  of  them  wholly  pleas- 
ant, judging  by  my  own — we  galloped  down  the 
long  slope,  a  red  sunset  at  our  backs  and  in  our  faces 
a  gale  of  dry,  warm  wind,  tainted  with  the  smell  of 
burning  grass.  And  at  the  bottom  of  the  slope,  in 
the  depths  of  a  high-walled  coulee  where  the  eve- 
ning shadows  were  mustering   for  their   stealthy 


RAW  GOLD  239 


raid  on  the  gilded  uplands,  we  circled  a  grove  of 
rustling  poplars  and  jerked  our  horses  up  short  at 
sight  of  a  scarlet  blotch  among  the  gloom  of  the 
trees. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

HONOR   AMONG   THIEVES. 

WE  knew,  even  as  our  fingers  instinctively 
closed  on  the  handles  of  our  six-shooters, 
that  we  had  not  come  upon  the  men  we 
wanted;  in  such  a  case  there  would  have  been  an 
exchange  of  leaden  courtesies  long  before  we  man- 
aged to  get  in  their  immediate  vicinity.  It  was  un- 
likely that  they  would  cease  to  exercise  the  cunning 
and  watchfulness  that  had,  so  far,  carried  their  in- 
fernal schemes  through  with  flying  colors.  And  a 
second  look  showed  us  that  the  scarlet  coat  be- 
longed to  a  man  who  half -sat,  half -lay  on  the 
ground,  his  shoulders  braced  against  the  trunk  of  a 
fallen  tree.  We  got  off  our  horses  and  went  cau- 
tiously up  to  him. 

"Be  not  afraid ;  it  is  only  I !"  Goodell  raised  his 
head  with  an  effort  and  greeted  us  mockingly.  "I 
am,  as  you  can  see,  hors  de  combat.  What  is  your 
pleasure,  gentlemen?" 


RAW  GOLD  241 


The  weakness  of  his  tone  and  the  palHd  features 
of  him  vouched  for  the  truth  of  his  statement. 
Stepping  nearer,  we  saw  that  the  Hght-colored  shirt 
showing  between  the  open  lapels  of  his  jacket  was 
stained  a  telltale  crimson.  The  hand  he  held  against 
his  breast  was  dabbled  and  streaked  with  the  blood 
that  oozed  from  beneath  the  pressing  fingers;  the 
leaf-mold  under  him  was  saturated  with  it. 

"Where  is  the  rest  of  the  bunch?"  MacRae  asked 
him  evenly.  "You  seem  to  have  got  a  part  of  what 
is  coming  to  you,  but  your  skirts  aren't  clear,  for 
all  that." 

"You  have  a  bone  to  pick  with  me,  eh?"  Goodell 
murmured.  "Well,  I  don't  blame  you.  But  don't 
adopt  the  role  of  inquisitor — because  I'm  as  good 
as  dead,  and  dead  men  tell  no  tales.  My  mouth 
will  be  closed  forever  in  a  little  while — and  I  can 
die  as  easily  with  it  unopened.  But  if  you'll  get 
me  a  drink  of  water,  and  be  decent  about  it,  I'll 
unfold  a  tale  that's  worth  while.  I  assure  you  it 
will  be  to  your  interest  to  give  me  a  hearing." 

Piegan  turned  and  strode  out  of  the  timber.    He 


242  RAW  GOLD 


unfastened  the  coffee-pot  from  my  saddle,  and  made 
for  the  coulee  channel  we  had  crossed,  in  which  a 
buffalo-wallow  still  held  water  from  the  recent  rain. 

Goodell  coughed,  and  a  red,  frothy  stream  came 
from  his  lips.  It  isn't  in  the  average  man  to  be 
utterly  callous  to  the  suffering  of  another,  even  if 
that  other  richly  deserves  his  pain.  Notwithstand- 
ing the  deviltry  he  and  his  confederates  had  perpe- 
trated, I  couldn't  help  feeling  sorry  for  Goodell — ' 
what  little  I'd  seen  of  him  had  been  likable  enough. 
I  found  it  hard  to  look  at  him  there  and  believe 
him  guilty  of  murder,  robbery,  and  kindred  depre- 
dations. He  was  beyond  reach  of  earthly  justice, 
anyway;  and  one  can't  help  forgiving  much  to  a 
man  who  faces  death  with  a  smile. 

'Are  you  in  any  pain,  Goodell  ?"  I  asked. 

'None  whatever,"  he  answered  weakly.  "But 
I'm  a  goner,  for  all  that.  I  have  a  very  neat  knife- 
thrust  in  the  back.  Also  a  bullet  somewhere  in  my 
lungs.  You  see  in  me,"  he  drawled,  "a  victim  of 
chivalry.  I've  played  for  big  stakes;  I've  robbed 
gaily,  and  killed  a  man  or  two  in  the  way  of  %ht- 


i( 


((• 


RAW  GOLD  243 


ing;  all  of  which  sits  lightly  on  my  conscience.  But 
there  are  two  things  I  haven't  done.  I  want  you  to 
remember  distinctly  that  I  have  not  dragged  that 
girl  into  this — nor  had  any  hand  in  torturing  a 
wounded  old  man." 

''You  mean  Lyn  Rowan?  Is  she  safe?"  Mac 
squatted  beside  him,  leaning  eagerly  forward  to 
catch  the  reply.  Piegan  returned  with  the  v^ater 
as  Goodell  was  about  to  answer.  He  swallowed 
thirstily,  took  breath,  and  went  on. 

"Yes,  I  mean  her,"  he  said  huskily.  'Til  tell  you 
quick,  for  I  know  I  won't  last  long,  and  when  I'm 
done  you'll  know  where  to  look  for  them.  I  started 
this  thing — this  hold-up  business — ^no  matter  why. 
Lessard  was  away  in  the  hole — gambling  and  other 
things — I  hinted  the  idea  to  him;  he  jumped  at  it, 
as  I  thought  he  would.    And — 


j> 


"Lessard!"  I  interrupted.  "He  was  in  on  this, 
then?" 

'Was  he?"  Goodell  echoed.  "He  is  the  whole 
thing." 

I  had  suspected  as  much,  but  sometimes  it  is  s 


244  RAW  GOLD 


surprise  to  have  one's  suspicions  confirmed,  I 
glanced  at  Mac  and  Piegan. 

"I  was  sure  of  it  all  along,"  Mac  answered  my 
unspoken  thought.  Piegan  merely  shrugged  his 
shoulders. 

"I  wanted  to  get  that  government  money  in  the 
pay-wagon,  that  was  all — at  first,"  Goodell  con- 
tinued. "We  planned  a  long  time  ahead,  and  we 
had  to  take  in  those  three  to  make  it  go.  Then 
Lessard  found  out  about  those  two  old  miners,  and 
put  Hicks  and  Gregory  on  their  trail  unknown  to 
me — I  had  no  hand  in  that  foul  business.  You 
know  the  result — the  finish — ^that  night  you  lost  the 
ten  thousand — it  was  hellish  work.  I  wanted  to 
kill  Hicks  and  Gregory  when  they  told  me.  Poor 
old  Dutchman!  Lessard  put  Bevans  on  your  trail, 
Flood.  He  followed  you  from  Walsh  that  day,  and 
you  played  into  his  hands  that  night  when  you 
stirred  up  the  fire.  Only  for  running  into  his  part- 
ners, he  would  probably  have  murdered  you  for  that 
ten  thousand  some  night  while  you  slept.  Give  me 
another  drink." 


RAW  GOLD  245 


I  lifted  the  pot  of  water  to  his  lips  again,  and 
he  thanked  me  courteously. 

"Then  Lessard  conceived  the  theory  that  you  fel- 
lows had  learned  more  than  you  told.  We  were 
fixed  to  get  the  paymaster  on  that  trip.  We  shook 
ycu,  and  did  the  job.  MacRae  was  on  the  way — 
you  know.  He  sent  you  to  the  Stone  with  those 
devils  to  keep  cases  on  you.  It  seemed  a  pity  to  let 
slip  that  gold-dust  after  they  had  gone  so  far.  You 
know  how  that  panned  out.  We  had  a  stake  then. 
Lessard  was  the  brains,  the  guiding  genius;  we  did 
the  work.  The  original  plan  was  to  make  a  clean- 
up, divide  with  him,  and  get  out  of  the  country — 
while  he  used  his  authority  to  throw  the  Force  off 
the  track  till  we  were  well  away.  Then  the  girl 
appeared,  and  Lessard  lost  his  head.  She  turned 
him  down;  and  at  the  last  moment  he  upset  our 
plans  by  deciding  to  cut  loose  and  go  with  us.  I 
believe  now  that  he  hatched  this  latest  scheme  when 
she  refused  him.  I  tell  you  he  was  fairly  mad  about 
her.  He  took  advantage  of  this  last  trip  to  loot  the 
post  of  all  the  funds  he  could  lay  hands  on.    We 


246  RAW  GOLD 


have — or,  rather,  they  have,"  he  corrected,  "about 
a  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  altogether. 

"We  couldn't  ford  Milk  River  on  account  of  the 
storm.  You  tracked  us  ?  You  saw  our  last  camp  ? 
Yes.  Well,  we  left  there  early  this  morning.  And 
when  Hicks  turned  off  opposite  Baker's  outfit  with 
an  extra  horse,  I  thought  nothing  of  it — it  was  per- 
fectly safe,  and  we  needed  more  matches,  Lessard 
said.  Not  until  he  joined  us  later  with  the  girl  did 
I  suspect  that  there  were  wheels  within  wheels;  a 
kidnaping  had  never  occurred  to  me;  I  hadn't 
thought  his  infatuation  would  carry  him  that  far. 
She  realized  at  once  that  she  had  been  hoodwinked, 
and  appealed  to  Lessard.  He  laughed  at  her,  and 
told  her  that  he  had  abandoned  the  modern  method 
of  winning  a  mate,  and  gone  back  to  the  primitive 
mode. 

"I've  put  myself  beyond  the  pale;  outlaw,  thief, 
what  you  like — I'm  not  sensitive  to  harsh  names. 
But  a  woman — a  good  woman!  Well,  I  have  my 
own  ideas  about  such  things.  And  when  we  camped 
here,  I  had  made  up  my  mind.    I  told  Lessard  she 


RAW  GOLD  247 


must  go  back.  That  was  a  foolish  move.  I  should 
have  got  the  drop  and  killed  him  out  of  hand. 
While  I  argued  with  him,  Hicks  slipped  a  knife 
into  my  back,  and  as  I  turned  on  him  Lessard  shot 
me.  Ah,  well — it'll  be  all  the  same  a  hundred  years 
from  now.  But  I'd  like  to  put  a  spoke  in  their 
wheel  for  the  sake  of  that  blue-eyed  girl. 

"MacRae,  you  and  Smith  know  the  mouth  of 
Sage  Creek,  and  the  ford  there.  That's  where 
they'll  camp  to-night.  I  doubt  if  they'll  cross  the 
river  till  morning.  If  you  ride  you  can  make  it  in 
three  hours.  From  there  they  plan  to  follow  Milk 
River  to  the  Missouri  and  catch  a  down-stream 
boat.  But  you'll  get  them  to-night.  You  must. 
Now  give  me  another  drink — and  drift!" 

"We'll  get  them,  Goodell."  MacRae  rose  to  his 
feet  as  he  spoke.  "You're  white,  if  you  did  get  off 
wrong.  I'll  remember  what  you  did — for  her.  Is 
there  an}i:hing  we  can  do  for  you?" 

Goodell  shook  his  head.  "I  tell  you,"  he  said, 
and  turned  his  head  to  look  wistfully  up  at  the 
eastern  coulee-rim,  all  tinted  with  the  blazing  sun- 


248  RAW   GOLD 


if 


ii^ 


set.     'Til  go  out  over  the  hills  with  the  shadows. 
An  hour — maybe  two.    It's  my  time.    I've  no  com-* 
plaint  to  make.    All  I  want  is  a  drink.    You  can  do 
no  good  for  a  dead  man;  and  the  living  are  sorely 
in  need.    It'll  be  a  bit  lonesome,  that's  all.'* 

'No  message  for  anybody?"  MacRae  persisted. 

'No — yes!"  The  old  mocking,  reckless  tone 
crept  into  his  voice  again.  "If  you  should  have 
speech  with  Lessard  before  you  put  his  light  out, 
tell  him  I  go  to  prepare  a  place  for  him — a  super- 
heated grid!  Now  drift — vamos — ^hit  the  trail. 
Remember,  the  gorge  at  the  mouth  of  Sage  Creek. 
Good-by." 

Soberly  we  filed  out  from  among  the  trees,  now 
swaying  in  the  grip  of  the  wind,  their  leafy  boughs 
rustling  sibilantly ;  as  though  the  weird  sisters  whis- 
pered in  the  nodding  branches  that  here  was  an- 
other thread  full-spun  and  ready  for  the  keen 
shears.  Soberly  we  swung  to  the  saddle  and  rode 
slowly  away,  lest  the  quick  beat  of  hoofs  should 
bring  a  sudden  pang  of  loneliness  to  the  intrepid 
soul   calmly   awaiting   death   under   the   shivering 


RAW  GOLD  249 


trees.  I  think  that  one  bold  effort  to  right  a  wrong 
will  more  than  wipe  out  the  black  score  against  him 
when  the  Book  of  Life  is  balanced. 

A  little  way  beyond  the  poplar-grove  Piegan  drew 
rein,  and  held  up  one  hand. 

*Toor  devil,"  he  muttered.  "He's  a-calling  us." 
But  he  wasn't.  He  was  fighting  off  the  chill  of 
loneliness  that  comes  to  the  strongest  of  us  when 
we  face  the  unknowable,  the  empty  void  that  there 
is  no  escaping.  Dying  there  in  the  falling  dusk,  he 
was  singing  to  himself  as  an  Indian  brave  chants 
his  death-song  when  the  red  flame  of  the  torture- 
iire  bites  into  his  flesh. 

Sing  heigh,  sing  ho,  for  the  Cavalier! 

Sing  heigh,  sing  ho,  for  the   Crown. 
Gentlemen  all,  turn  out,  turn  out; 

We'll  keep  these  Roundheads  down! 
Down — down — down — down. 
We'll  ke — ep  these  Round — heads  down! 

Once — twice,  the  chorus  of  that  old  English 
Royalist  song  rose  up  out  of  the  grove.  Then  it 
died  away,  and  we  turned  to  go.  And  as  we  struck 
home  the  spurs,  remembering  the  mouth  of  Sage 


250  RAW  GOLD 


Creek  and  the  dark  that  was  closing  down,  a  six- 
shooter  barked  sharply,  back  among  the  trees. 

I  swung  my  horse  around  in  his  tracks  and  raced 
him  back  to  the  poplars,  knowing  what  I  would 
find,  and  yet  refusing  to  believe.  I  will  not  say  that 
his  big  heart  had  failed  him ;  perhaps  it  did  not  seem 

to  him  worth  while  to  face  the  somber  shadows  to 
the  bitter  end,  lying  alone  in  that  deep  hollow  in  the 

earth.  It  may  be  that  the  night  looked  long  and 
comfortless,  and  it  was  his  wish  to  go  out  with  the 
sun.  He  lay  beside  the  fallen  tree,  his  eyes  turned 
blankly  to  the  darkening  sky,  the  six-shooter  in  his 
hand  as  he  had  held  it  for  the  last  time.  I  straight- 
ened his  arms,  and  covered  his  face  with  the  blood- 
stained coat  and  left  him  to  his  long  sleep.  And 
even  old  Piegan  lifted  his  hat  and  murmured 
"Amen"  in  all  sincerity  as  we  turned  away. 


.i  . 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

THE   BISON. 

WHEN  we  reached  high  ground  again  the 
twihght  was  fading  to  a  semicircle  of 
bloodshot  gray  in  the  northwest.  The 
wind  still  blew  squarely  in  our  faces.  Down  in  the 
coulee  we  had  not  noticed  it  so  much,  but  now  every 
breath  was  rank  with  the  smell  of  grass-smoke,  and 
each  mile  we  traversed  the  stink  of  it  grew  stronger. 
"We'll  be  blamed  lucky  if  we  don't  run  into  a 
prairie-fire  before  mornin',"  Piegan  grumbled.  'Tf 
that  wind  don't  let  up,  she'll  come  a-whoopin'.  It'll 
be  a  sure  enough  smoky  one,  too,  with  this  mixture 
uh  dry  grass  an'  the  new  growth  springin'  up.  It 
didn't  rain  so  hard  down  in  this  country,  I  notice. 
Ain't  that  a  lalla  of  a  smell?" 

Neither  of  us  answered,  and  Piegan  said  no  more. 
It  grew  dark — dark  in  the  full  sense  of  the  word. 
The  smoke-burdened  atmosphere  was  impervious  to 
the  radiance  of  the  stars.    Only  by  Smith's  instinc- 


252  RAW  GOLD 


tive  sense  of  direction  did  we  make  any  headway 
toward  the  mouth  of  Sage  Creek.  Even  MacRae 
owned  himself  somewhat  at  fault,  once  we  came 
among  the  buffalo.  They  barred  our  path  in  dimly- 
seen  masses  that  neither  halted,  scattered,  nor  turned 
aside  when  we  galloped  upon  them  in  the  gloom. 
We  were  the  ones  who  gave  the  road,  riding  now 
before,  now  behind  the  indistinct  bulk  of  a  herd, 
according  as  we  judged  the  shorter  way. 

More  dense  became  the  brute  mass.  Whirled  this 
way  and  that,  as  Piegan  led,  I  knew  neither  east, 
west,  north  or  south  from  one  moment  to  another. 
Betimes  we  found  a  stretch  of  open  country,  and 
gave  our  horses  the  steel,  but  always  to  bring  up 
suddenly  against  the  bison  plodding  in  groups,  in 
ranks,  in  endless  files.  They  were  ubiquitous ;  stolid 
obstructions  that  we  could  neither  avoid  nor  ride 
down.  Our  progress  became  monotonous,  a  suc- 
cession of  fruitless  attempts  to  advance;  hopeless, 
like  wandering  in  a  subtle  maze.  Bison  to  the  right 
of  us,  bison  to  the  left  of  us,  an  uncounted  swarm 
behind  us,  and  as  many  before — but  they  neither 


RAW  GOLD  253 


bellowed  nor  thundered;  they  passed  like  phan- 
toms in  the  night,  soundlessly  save  for  the  muffled 
trampling  of  cloven  hoofs,  and  here  and  there  upon 
occasion  hoarse  coughings  that  were  strangled  by 
the  wind. 

And  we  rode  as  silently  as  the  bison  marched. 
For  each  one  of  us  had  seen  that  one-minded  pil- 
grimage of  the  brown  cattle  take  place  in  moons 
gone  by.  I  recalled  a  time  when  a  trail-herd  lay 
on  the  Platte  and  the  buffalo  barred  their  passing 
for  two  days — even  made  fourteen  riders  and  three 
thousand  Texas  steers  give  ground.  Is  it  not  his- 
tory that  the  St.  Louis-Benton  river-boats  backed 
water  when  the  bison  crossed  the  Missouri  in  the 
spring  and  fall?  Remembering  these,  and  other 
times  that  the  herds  had  gathered  and  swept  over 
the  plains,  a  plague  of  monstrous  locusts,  pushing 
aside  men  and  freight-trains,  I  knew  what  would 
happen  should  the  bufialo  close  their  ranks,  marshal 
the  scattered  groups  into  closer  formation,  quicken 
the  pace  of  the  multitude  that  poured  down  from 
the  north.     And  presently  it  happened. 


254  RAW  GOLD 


Insensibly  the  number  of  moving  bodies  in- 
creased. The  consoHdation  was  imperceptible  in  the 
murk,  but  nevertheless  it  took  place.  We  ceased 
to  find  clear  spaces  where  we  could  gallop;  a  trot 
became  impossible.  We  were  hemmed  in.  A  rank 
animal  odor  mingled  with  the  taint  of  smoke. 
Gradually  the  muffled  beat  of  hoofs  grew  more  pro- 
nounced, a  shuffling  monotone  that  filled  the  night. 
We  were  mere  atoms  in  a  vast  wave  of  horn  and 
bone  and  flesh  that  bore  us  onward  as  the  tide  floats 
driftwood. 

The  belated  moon  stole  up  from  its  lair,  hovered 
above  the  sky-line,  a  gaudy  orange  sphere  in  the 
haze  of  smoke.  It  shed  a  tenuous  glimmer  on  the 
sea  of  bison  that  had  engulfed  us;  and  at  the  half- 
revealed  sight  MacRae  lifted  his  clenched  hands 
above  his  head  and  cursed  the  circumstance  that  had 
brought  us  to  such  extremity.  That  was  the  first 
and  only  time  I  knew  him  to  lose  his  poise,  his 
natural  repression.  Still  water  runs  deep,  they  say; 
and  a  glacial  cap  may  conceal  subterranean  fires. 
Trite  similes,  I  grant  you — but,  ah,  how  true.    The 


RAW  GOLD  255 


good  Lord  help  those  phlegmatics  who  can  stand 
by  unmoved  when  a  self-contained  man  reveals  the 
anguish  of  his  soul  in  one  passionate  outburst. 
Could  the  fury  that  quivered  in  his  voice  have 
wreaked  itself  on  the  bison  and  the  men  we  fol- 
lowed, the  stench  of  their  blasted  carcasses  would 
have  reached  high  heaven.  But  the  bison  sur- 
rounded us  impassively,  bore  us  on  as  before ;  some- 
where, miles  beyond,  Lessard  pursued  the  evil  tenor 
of  his  way;  and  MacRae's  futile  passion,  like  a 
wave  that  has  battered  itself  to  foam  against  a  sullen 
cliff,  subsided  and  died.  Later,  while  we  three  cast- 
aways drifted  with  the  bovine  tide,  he  spoke  to 
Piegan  Smith. 

"How  are  we  going  to  get  through?" 

"Dunno.  But  we  will  get  through,  yuh  c'n  gam- 
ble on  that."  Optimism  rampant  was  the  domi- 
nating element  in  Piegan's  philosophy  of  life. 

As  if  to  prove  that  he  was  a  true  prophet,  the 
herd  split  against  a  rocky  pinnacle,  and  on  this  we 
stranded.     So  much,  at  least,  we  had  gained — we 


256  RAW  GOLD 


were  no  longer  being  carried  willy-nilly  out  of  our  | 

way.  i 

! 
\ 

"If  they'd  only  scatter  a  little/'  MacRae  mut- 
tered. 

But  for  a  long  two  hours  the  bison  streamed  by  j 
our  island,  dividing  before  and  closing  behind  the 
insensate  peak  that  alone  had  power  to  break  their 

close-packed  ranks.    Then  came  an  opening,  a  fall-  ] 

ing  apart;  slight  as  it  was,  we  plunged  into  it  witH  ; 
joy.    Thereafter  we  were  buffeted  like  chips  in  the 

swirling  maw  of  a  whirlpool;  we  fought  our  way  i 
rod  by  rod.    Here  an  opening,  and  we  shot  through ; 

there  a  solid  wall  of  flesh  for  whose  passing  we  j 

halted,  lashing  out  with  quirts  and  spurring  des-  \ 

perately  to  hold  our  own — a  war  for  the  open  road  j 

against  an  enemy  whose  only  weapon  was  his  un-  j 

swerving  bulk.    And  we  won.    We  pushed,  twisted,  ^ 

spurred  our  way  through  the  ranks  of  a  hundred  ! 

thousand  bison.    Jostling,  cursing  the  brute  swarm,  \ 
we  crowded  our  horses  against  the  press,  and  lo? 

of  a  sudden  we  reined  up  on  open  ground — the  i 

bison,  like  a  nightmare,  were  gone.     Off  in  the  | 


--0 

o 


D 


> 
•/I 

z 


J 
z 

o 

y 

73 


z 
z 

r: 
Z 

<; 

-J 
<1 


Z 


o 


■f 
< 


1 


RAW  GOLD  257 


gloom  to  one  side  of  us  a  myriad  of  hoofs  beat  the 
earth,  the  hoarse  coughing-s  continued,  the  animal 
odor  exhaled — but  it  was  no  longer  a  force  to  be 
reckoned  with.  We  were  free.  We  had  outflanlced 
the  herd. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

THE    MOUTH    OF   SAGE    CREEK. 

WITH  that  opposing  force  behind  us,  we  bore 
away  across  the  shrouded  benches, 
straight  for  the  mouth  of  Sage  Creek. 
What  method  we  would  pursue  when  we  got  there 
was  not  altogether  clear  to  me,  and  the  same  thing 
evidently  bothered  Piegan,  for,  after  a  long  inter- 
val, he  addressed  himself  pointedly  to  MacRae. 

"We  ought  t'  hit  the  river  in  an  hour  or  so,"  he 
said.  "It's  time  we  figured  on  how  we're  goin'  t' 
work,  eh?    I  wish  t'  the  Lord  it  was  daylight." 

"So  do  I,"  MacRae  moodily  responded.  "For 
that  matter,  it  won't  be  long.  I've  been  thinking 
that  the  best  way  would  be  to  get  down  on  the  flat 
at  the  north  of  the  creek  and  cache  our  horses  in  the 
timber.  Then  we  can  sneak  around  without  making 
any  noise.  If  they're  not  camped  on  the  flat,  we'll 
find  them  somewhere  up  the  gorge.  Of  course, 
there's  a  chance  that  they  have  crossed  the  river — • 


RAW   GOLD  259 


but  if  they  didn't  get  there  in  daylight,  and  the 
river  is  still  high,  I  hardly  think  they'd  risk  fording 
in  the  dark." 

"That's  about  the  way  I  had  sized  it  up,"  Piegan 
replied.  "The  flat  ain't  bigger'n  a  good-sized  flap- 
jack, nohow,  an'  if  they're  on  that  or  up  in  Sage 
Creek  canyon,  we're  bound  t'  locate  'em ;  kain't  help 
hearin'  their  bosses  snort  or  cough  or  make  some 
sort  uh  noise,  if  we  go  careful.  The  worst  of  it  is, 
we  kain't  start  the  ball  a-rollin'  till  we  get  that  girl 
spotted — that's  the  hell  of  it!  Like  as  not  she'd 
be  the  first  one  t'  get  hurt.  An'  if  we  get  rambunc- 
tious an'  stir  'em  up  in  the  dark,  an'  don't  put  the 
finishin'  to  'em  right  then  an'  there — why,  they  got 
all  the  show  in  the  world  t'  make  a  hot-foot  get- 
away. Sahe?  While  I  ain't  lookin'  for  a  chance  t' 
sidestep  the  game,  for  I  know  how  yuh  feel,  I'd  say 
locate  'em  if  we  can,  an'  then  back  up  a  little  and 
wait  for  day." 

"Oh,  I  know,  I  know !"  Mac  burst  out.  "That's 
sense.  But  it  gives  me  the  creeps  to  think — to 
think — 


>j 


260  RAW   GOLD 


"Sure;  we  know  it,"  Piegan  answered  softly. 
**We  kain't  tell  till  we  get  there,  anyway.  Maybe 
we'll  get  'em  dead  t'  rights.  No  tellin'  what'll  come 
up  when  we  get  into  that  canyon.  When  we  get 
'em  spotted  we  c'n  make  up  our  minds  what  t'  do — 
if  we  have  any  time  t'  talk  about  it,"  he  finished,  in 
an  undertone. 

As  we  rode,  the  crimson-yellow  reflection  of  burn- 
ing prairies  began  to  tint  the  eastern  sky;  once, 
from  the  crest  of  a  hill,  we  saw  the  wavering  line 
of  flame,  rising  and  falling  in  beautiful  undulations. 
And  presently  we  galloped  across  a  mile  or  two  of 
level  grass-land  and  pulled  up  on  the  very  brink  of 
Sage  Creek  canyon. 

"Easy,  easy,  from  here  on,"  Piegan  whispered 
caution.  "We  may  be  right  above  'em,  for  all  we 
know.  We  hit  it  a  little  too  high  up.  How  far 
d'yuh  reckon  it  is  t'  the  mouth,  Mac?" 

"Not  more  than  half  a  mile,"  MacRae  returned. 
"We're  not  far  out.  I  know  where  there's  a  good 
place  to  get  down." 


RAW  GOLD  261 


We  turned  sharply  to  the  right,  coming  out  on  a 
narrow  point.  Without  mishap  we  reached  the  foot 
of  the  steep  hill.  At  the  bottom  the  wind  was  al- 
most wholly  shut  off,  so  that  sounds  were  easier 
to  distinguish.  The  moon  had  passed  its  zenith 
long  since,  and  half  of  the  flat  lay  in  dense  shadow. 
Beyond  the  shadow  a  pall  of  smoke  lay  over  every- 
thing, a  shifting  haze  that  made  objects  near  at 
hand  indefinite  of  outline,  impossible  to  classify  at  a 
glance.  A  horse  or  a  tree  or  a  clump  of  brush 
loomed  up  grotesquely  in  the  vaporous  blur. 

Mac,  to  whom  the  topography  of  that  gloomy 
place  was  perfectly  familiar,  led  the  way.  A  black, 
menacing  wall  that  rose  before  us  suddenly  resolved 
itself  into  a  grove  of  trees,  great  four-foot  cotton- 
woods.  He  stole  into  the  heart  of  the  grove  and 
satisfied  himself  that  our  game  had  not  appropriated 
it  as  a  camping-place.  That  assured,  we  followed 
with  our  horses  and  tied  them  securely,  removing 
saddles  and  bridles,  lest  the  clank  of  steel  or  creak- 
ing of  leather  betray  our  presence  to  listening  ears. 
On  any  noise  our  horses  might  make  we  had  no 


262  RAW   GOLD 


choice  but  to  take  a  chance.  Then  we  looked  to  our 
guns  and  set  out  on  a  stealthy  search. 

A  complete  circle  of  that  tiny  bottom — it  was 
only  a  shelf  of  sage-brown  land  lying  between  the 
river  and  the  steep  bank — profited  us  nothing,  and 
Piegan  whispered  that  now  we  must  seek  for  them 
in  the  gorge. 

Cautiously  we  retraced  our  steps  from  the  lower 
end  of  the  flat,  and  turned  into  the  narrow  mouth 
of  the  canyon.  We  had  no  more  than  got  fairly 
between  the  straight-up-and-down  walls  of  it  than 
Piegan  halted  us  with  a  warning  hand.  We  squat- 
ted in  the  sage-brush  and  listened.  Behind  us,  from 
the  river,  came  a  gentle  plashing. 

"Beaver,"  I  hazarded. 

"Too  loud,"  Piegan  murmured.     "Let's  go  back 


an*  see.*' 


We  reached  the  river-edge  just  in  time  to  hear 
the  splashing  die  away ;  and  though  we  strained  our 
eyes  looking,  we  could  make  out  no  movement  on 
the  surface  of  the  river  or  in  the  dimly-outlined 
scrub  that  fringed  the  opposite  bank.  Piegan  turned 


RAW  GOLD  263 


on  the  instant  and  ran  to  where  we  had  tied  our 
horses;  but  they  stood  quietly  as  we  had  left  them. 

*'I  got  a  hunch  they'd  got  onto  us,  an'  maybe  set 
us  afoot  for  a  starter,"  Piegan  explained.  *'I  reckon 
that  must  'a'  been  a  deer  or  some  other  wild 
critter." 

Once  more  we  turned  into  the  canyon,  and  this 
time  followed  its  narrow,  scrub-patched  floor  some 
three  hundred  yards  up  from  the  river.  It  was 
dark  enough  for  any  kind  of  deviltry  in  that  four- 
hundred  foot  gash  in  the  earth;  the  sinking  moon 
lightened  only  a  strip  along  the  east  wall,  near  the 
top;  lower  down,  smoke  mingling  with  the  natural 
gloom  cast  an  impenetrable  veil  from  bank  to  bank ; 
not  a  breath  of  air  stirred  the  tomblike  stillness. 
Directly  in  front  of  us  a  horse  coughed.  We 
dropped  on  all  fours,  listened  a  moment,  then  crept 
forward.  Without  warning,  we  found  ourselves 
foul  of  a  picket-line,  and  the  vague  forms  of  graz- 
ing horses  loomed  close  by.  Piegan  halted  us  with 
a  touch,  and  we  lay  flat;  then  with  our  heads  to- 
gether he  whispered  softly : 


264  RAW   GOLD 


"We  must  be  right  on  top  uh  them.  It's  a  cinch 
their  camp  ain't  far  from  their  livestock.  I  won- 
der  " 

To  the  left  of  us  a  horse  snorted  nervously;  we 
heard  him  trot  with  high,  springy  strides  to  the 
end  of  his  rope,  and  snort  again.  Then  a  voice  cut 
the  stillness  that  followed :  "Here,  you  fool,  what's 
the  matter  with  you?" 

We  hugged  the  ground  like  frightened  rabbits. 
It  hardly  seemed  possible  that  we  could  be  within 
speaking-distance  of  them — yet  that  was  Gregory's 
clear  enunciation;  I  would  know  his  speech  in  a 
jabberfest  of  several  nations. 

"What's  the  matter?"  That,  by  the  curt  inflec- 
tion, the  autocratic  peremptoriness,  was  Lessard.  I 
had  one  hand  on  MacRae's  shoulder,  and  I  felt  a 
tremor  run  through  his  body,  like  the  rising  of  a 
cat's  fur  at  sight  of  an  adversary. 

"Oh,  nothing  much,"  Gregory  answered  care- 
lessly. "I  was  just  speaking  to  one  of  these  fool 
horses.    They  seem  to  be  as  nervous  as  you  are." 


RAW  GOLD  265 


And  we  could  hear  him  chuckle  over  this  last  re- 
mark. 

After  that  there  was  nothing  but  the  muffled  tr- 
upj  tv-up  of  grazing  horses.  Piegan  or  MacRae,  I 
could  not  tell  which,  tugged  gently  at  my  arm,  and 
the  three  of  us  retreated  slowly,  crawling  both  liter- 
ally and  figuratively.  When  we  were  well  away 
from  the  camp  of  that  ungodly  combination,  Piegan 
rose  to  his  feet  and  we  proceeded  a  little  faster  until 
we  reached  a  distance  that  permitted  of  low-toned 
conversation. 

"Now,"  Piegan  declared,  "we  have  'em  located. 
An'  I'm  here  t'  declare  that  it's  plumb  foolish  t'  mix 
things  with  that  layout  till  we  can  see  t'  shoot  tol- 
erable straight.  If  we  go  against  'em  now,  it'll  be 
all  same  goin'  blindfolded  into  a  barn  t'  pick  out 
the  best  boss.  The  first  gun  that  pops  they'll  raise 
up  an'  quit  the  earth  like  a  bunch  uh  antelope.  They 
ain't  got  nothin'  t'  win  in  a  fight — unless  they're 
cornered.  I  did  think  uh  trvin'  t'  s:et  off  with  their 
bosses,  but  I  figured  it  wouldn't  pay  with  that  sharp- 
eared  cuss  on  the  watch.     Whenever  it  comes  day, 


266  RAW  GOLD 


we  got  all  the  best  uh  things — though  I  don't  reckon 
we'll  have  a  walkaway.  We  want  t'  make  a  clean 
job  once  we  start  in,  an'  we  kain't  do  that  in  the 
dark.  Furthermore,  as  I  said  before,  if  we  go  t* 
throwin'  lead  when  we  kain't  see  ten  feet  in  front 
of  us,  we'd  just  about  hit  that  girl  first  rattle  out  uh 
the  box.  She  ain't  comin'  t'  no  harm  just  now,  or 
it  wouldn't  be  so  blamed  peaceful  around  there. 
It's  only  a  matter  of  a  couple  uh  hours  t'  daylight, 
anyhow.     What  d'yuh  think  ?" 

"Under  the  circumstances,  the  only  thing  we  can 
do  is  to  wait,"  MacRae  assented,  and  I  fancied  that 
there  was  a  reluctant  quiver  in  his  usually  steady 
voice.  "It's  going  to  be  smoky  at  daybreak,  but  we 
can  see  their  camp  from  this  first  point,  I  think. 
There's  a  big  rock  over  here— I'll  show  you — you 
and  Sarge  can  get  under  cover  there.  I'll  lie  up 
on  the  opposite  side,  so  they'll  have  to  come  between 
us.  Let  them  pack  and  get  started.  When  they  get 
nearly  abreast,  cut  loose.  Shoot  their  saddle-horses 
first,  then  we  can  fight  it  out.  Come  on,  I'll  show 
you  that  rock." 


RAW  GOLD  267 


MacRae's  bump  of  location  was  nearly  as  well 
developed  as  Piegan's.  He  picked  his  way  through 
the  sage-brush  to  the  other  side  of  the  canyon, 
bringing  us  in  the  deepest  gloom  to  a  great  slab  of 
sandstone  that  had  fallen  from  above,  and  lay  a 
few  feet  from  the  base  of  the  sheer  wall.  It  was 
a  natural  breastwork,  all  ready  to  our  hand.  There, 
without  another  word,  he  left  us.  Crouching  in 
the  shelter  of  that  rock,  not  daring  to  speak  above  a 
whisper,  denied  the  comforts  of  tobacco,  it  seemed 
as  if  we  were  never  to  be  released  from  the  dusky 
embrace  of  night.  In  reality  it  was  less  than  two 
hours  till  daybreak,  but  they  were  slow-footed  ones 
to  me.  Then  dawn  flung  itself  impetuously  across 
the  hills,  and  the  naked  rim  of  the  canyon  took  form 
in  a  shifting  whirl  of  smoke.  Down  in  the  depths 
gloom  and  shadows  vanished  together,  and  Piegan 
Smith  and  I  peered  over  the  top  of  our  rock  and 
saw  the  outlaw  camp — men  and  horses  dim  figures 
in  the  growing  light.  We  scanned  the  opposite  side 
for  sight  of  MacRae,  but  saw  nothing  of  him;  he 
kept  close  under  cover. 


268  RAW   GOLD 


^'They're  packin'  up,"  Piegan  murmured,  with  a 
dry  chuckle.  "I  reckon  things  won't  tighten  nor 
nothin'  in  a  few  minutes,  eh?  But  say,  damn  if  I 
see  anything  among  that  layout  that  resembles  a 
female.    Do  you  ?" 

I  did  not,  even  when  I  focused  the  field-glasses 
on  that  bunch  at  that  short  distance.  Certainly  she 
was  not  there — at  least  she  was  not  to  be  seen,  and 
I  could  almost  read  the  expression  on  each  man's 
features,  so  close  did  the  glasses  draw  them  up. 
And  failing  to  see  her  started  me  thinking  that  after 
all  she  might  have  given  them  the  slip.  I  hoped  it 
might  be  so.  Lyn  was  no  chicken-hearted  weakling, 
to  sit  down  and  weep  unavailingly  in  time  of  peril. 
Bred  on  the  range,  on  speaking-terms  with  the  tur- 
bulent frontier  life,  her  wits  weren't  likely  to  for- 
sake her  in  a  situation  of  that  kind. 

While  the  light  of  day  grew  stronger  and  the 
smoke  eddied  in  heavier  wreaths  above,  one  of  them 
swung  up  on  a  horse  and  came  down  the  bottom 
at  a  fast  lope.  We  had  no  means  of  knowing  what 
his  mission  might  be,  but  I  did  know  that  the  square 


RAW  GOLD  269 


shoulders,  the  lean  eagle  face,  could  only  belong  to 
one  man ;  and  I  dropped  the  glasses  and  drew  a  bead 
on  his  breast.  I  hesitated  a  second,  squinting  along 
the  barrel  of  the  carbine;  I  wanted  him  to  round 
the  point  that  jutted  out  from  the  other  side  of  the 
canyon,  so  that  his  partners  could  not  see  his  finish. 
If  they  did  not  see  him  go  down,  nor  observe  the 
puff  of  smoke  from  behind  the  rock,  they  might 
think  he  had  fired  a  shot  himself.  And  while  I 
waited,  grumbling  at  the  combination  of  circum- 
stances that  made  it  necessary  to  shoot  down  even 
a  cold-blooded  brute  like  him  in  such  a  way,  Mac 
took  the  matter  out  of  my  hands  in  his  own  char- 
acteristic fashion. 

Lessard  turned  the  point,  and  as  the  carbine- 
hammer  clicked  back  under  the  pull  of  my  thumb, 
MacRae  sprang  to  his  feet  from  behind  a  squatty 
clump  of  sage,  right  in  Lessard's  path.  Nervy  as 
men  are  made,  MacRae  worshiped  at  the  shrine  of 
an  even  break,  a  square  deal  for  friend  or  foe. 
And  Lessard  got  it.  There  among  the  sage-brush 
he  got  a  fair  chance  for  his  life,  according  to  the 


270  RAW  GOLD 


code  of  men  who  settle  their  differences  at  the  busi- 
ness end  of  a  six-shooter.  But  it  wasn't  Lessard's 
hour.  Piegan  Smith  and  I  saw  his  hand  flash  to 
his  pistol,  saw  it  come  to  a  level,  heard  the  single 
report  of  MacRae's  gun.  It  was  a  square  deal — 
which  Lessard  had  not  given  us.  He  crumpled  in 
the  saddle;  sprawled  a  moment  on  the  neck  of  his 
horse,  and  dropped  to  the  ground.  MacRae  sank 
behind  the  sage  again,  and  we  waited  for  the  others. 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

AN   ELEMENTAL   ALLY. 

BUT  they  did  not  come.  One  of  them  must  have 
seen  Lessard  fall,  for  at  the  crack  of  Mac- 
Rae's  gun  men  and  horses,  already  half-hid- 
den by  the  thickening  smoke,  vanished  into  the 
brush.  Piegan  fired  one  ineffectual  shot  as  they 
flicked  out  of  sight.  So  far  we  had  seen  nothing 
of  Lyn.  I  was  satisfied  she  was  not  in  the  party, 
unaccountable  as  that  seemed  to  be. 

"Darn  'em,"  Piegan  grunted  disgustedly. 
"They're  next,  now.  An'  they  don't  aim  t'  run  the 
gantlet  till  they  have  t'.  We  got  'em  penned,  any- 
way ;  they  can't  get  out  uh  that  patch  uh  brush  with- 
out showin'  themselves.'* 

"Oh,  Piegan!"  MacRae  called  to  us.  He  lay 
within  easy  shouting-distance,  and  managed  to  make 
himself  heard  without  rising. 


272  RAW  GOLD 


"Hello!"  Piegan  answered. 

"Can  you  fellows  keep  them  from  going  up  the 
canyon?" 

"I  reckon  we  can,"  Smith  called  back,  "unless  this 
smoke  gets  so  blame  thick  we  kain't  see  at  all." 

"All  right.  I'm  going  up  on  top,  and  throw  it 
into  them  from  above.  Maybe  I  can  drive  them  out 
of  the  brush." 

Piegan  slapped  me  on  the  shoulder.  "Darn  our 
fool  hearts,"  he  exclaimed.  "We  ought  to  'a* 
thought  uh  that  before.  Why,  he  c'n  pick  'em  off 
like  blackbirds  on  a  fence,  from  up  there  on  the 
bench !" 

We  did  not  see  MacRae  go,  but  we  knew  that  he 
must  have  crawled  through  the  sage-brush  to  the 
creek  channel,  where,  by  stooping,  he  could  gain 
the  mouth  of  the  canyon  unseen.  Anyway,  our 
time  was  fully  occupied  in  watching  the  brush- 
patch  that  sheltered  our  plundering  friends.  They 
held  close  to  their  concealment,  however,  nor  did 
they  waste  any  powder  on  us — for  that  matter,  I 
don't  think  they  knew  just  where  we  were,  and  they 


RAW  GOLD  273 


were  familiar  enough  with  the  gentle  art  of  bush- 
whacking to  realize  that  the  open  was  a  distinctly 
unhealthy  place  for  either  party  to  prospect. 

It  was  a  long  time  till  we  heard  from  MacRae 
again,  and,  lying  there  passively,  we  grew  afraid 
that  after  all  they  would  give  us  the  slip;  for  the 
smoke  was  now  rolling  in  black  clouds  above  the 
gorge.  So  far  the  thickest  of  it  had  blown  over- 
head, but  any  moment  a  change  of  wind  might  whip 
It  down  the  canyon  bottom  like  an  ocean  fog,  and 
that  would  mean  good-by  to  Hicks  &  Co. 

"That  fire's  mighty  close,  an'  comin'  on  the 
jump,"  Piegan  remarked,  with  an  upward  glance. 
"I  wish  she'd  let  up  long  enough  for  us  t'  finish  this 
job.  That  smoke's  as  good  as  they  want,  once  it 
begins  t'  settle  in  the  gorge.  What  in  thunder  d'yuh 
s'pose  Mac's  doin'  all  this  time.  He  ought  t'  show 
pretty  quick,  now." 

He  showed,  as  Piegan  put  it,  very  shortly.  From 
the  top  of  the  opposite  bank  he  fired  a  shot  or  two, 
and  drew  for  the  first  time  a  return  from  the  enemy. 
Then  he  broke  off,  and  when  he  next  gave  hint  of 


274  RAW  GOLD 


his  whereabouts,  it  was  to  hail  us  from  the  nearest 
point  on  the  canyon  rim. 

"Quit  your  hide-out  and  pull  for  the  mouth  of 
the  gorge.    Quick!    I'll  be  there." 

"What  the  hell's  up  now!"  Piegan  muttered. 
*Well,  I  guess  we'll  have  t'  take  a  chance.  If  they 
don't  wing  us  before  we  get  across  this  bald  place, 
we'll  be  all  right.  Run  like  yuh  was  plumb  scairt 
t'  death,  Flood." 

We  sprinted  like  a  pair  of  quarter-horses  across 
the  thirty  yards  of  bare  ground  that  spread  in  front 
of  the  rock,  a  narrow  enough  space,  to  be  sure,  but 
barren  of  cover  for  a  jack-rabbit,  much  less  two 
decent-sized  men.  My  heart  was  pumping  double- 
quick  when  we  threw  ourselves  headlong  in  the  wel- 
come sage-brush — they  had  done  their  level  best  to 
stop  us,  and  some  of  those  forty-four  caliber  hum- 
ming-birds buzzed  their  leaden  monotone  perilously 
close  to  our  heads.  That  is  one  kind  of  music  for 
which  I  have  a  profound  respect. 

From  there  to  the  creek-channel  we  crawled  on 
all  fours,  as  MacRae  had  done.     Stooping,  lest  our 


RAW  GOLD  275 


heads  furnish  a  target,  we  splashed  along  in  the 
shallow  water  till  we  reached  the  mouth  of  the  can- 
yon. There  we  slipped  carefully  to  higher  ground. 
MacRae  was  scrambling  and  sliding  down  from 
above,  barely  distinguishable  against  the  bank.  Far 
up  the  gorge  dense  clouds  of  black  smoke  swooped 
down  from  the  benchland.  Already  the  patch  of 
brush  in  which  lay  the  renegade  Policemen  was 
hidden  in  the  smudge,  shut  away  from  our  sight. 
We  hailed  MacRae  when  he  reached  the  foot  of  the 
hill,  and  he  came  crashing  through  sage  and  buck- 
brush  and  threw  himself,  panting,  on  the  ground. 

*The  fire,"  he  gasped,  "is  coming  down  the 
gorge.  They're  cut  off  at  the  other  end.  They've 
got  to  come  out  here  in  a  little  while — or  roast. 
The  smoke  would  choke  a  salamander,  on  top,  right 
now.  We  can't  miss  them  in  this  narrow  place,  no 
matter  how  thick  it  gets.    Look  yonder!" 

A  wavering  red  line  licked  its  way  to  the  canyon- 
edge  on  the  east  side,  wiped  out  the  grass,  and  died 
on  the  bald  rim-rock.  Away  up  the  creek  a  faint 
crackling  sounded. 


276  RAW  GOLD 


"Dry  timber,"  Piegan  muttered.  "It'll  get  warm 
'round  here  pretty  directly." 

The  smoke,  blacker  now,  more  dense,  hot  as  a 
whiff  from  a  baker's  oven,  swooped  down  upon  us 
in  choking  eddies.  It  blew  out  of  the  canyon-mouth 
like  a  gust  from  a  chimney,  rolling  over  and  over 
in  billowy  masses.  The  banks  on  either  hand  were 
almost  invisible.  We  knew  that  our  time  of  waiting 
was  short.  The  popping  of  dry,  scrubby  timber 
warned  us  that  our  position  would  soon  be  unten- 
able. The  infernal  vapors  from  the  unholy  mixture 
of  green  and  dry  grass,  berry  bushes,  willow  scrub, 
and  the  ubiquitous  sage,  made  breathing  a  misery 
and  brought  unwilling  tears  to  our  stinging  eyes. 
And  presently,  above  the  subdued  but  menacing 
noises  of  the  fire,  the  beat  of  galloping  hoofs  up- 
rose. 

They  burst  out  of  the  mouth  of  the  canyon,  a 
smoke-wreathed  whirlwind,  heading  for  the  protec- 
tion of  the  river.  The  pack-horses,  necked  together, 
galloped  in  the  lead,  and  behind  them  Hicks,  Greg- 
ory,  and  Bevans  leaned  over  the   necks  of  their 


RAW   GOLD  277 


mounts.  They  knew  that  we  were  waiting  for 
them,  but  at  the  worst  they  had  a  fighting  chance 
with  us,  and  none  with  what  came  behind.  So  thick 
hung  the  smoky  veil  that  they  were  right  on  top  of 
us  before  they  took  tangible  shape;  and  when  we 
rose  to  our  knees  and  fired,  the  crack  of  their  guns 
mingled  with  that  of  our  own.  Gregory,  so  near 
that  I  could  see  every  feature  of  his  dark  face,  the 
glittering  black  eyes,  the  wide  mouth  parted  over 
white,  even  teeth,  wilted  in  his  saddle  as  they  swept 
by.  Bevans  and  his  horse  went  down  together.  But 
Hicks  the  wily,  a  superb  horseman,  hung  in  his  off 
stirrup  and  swerved  away  from  us,  and  the  smoke 
closed  behind  him  to  the  tune  of  our  guns. 

It  was  done  in  less  time  than  it  has  taken  to  tell 
of  it.  There  was  no  prolonged  hand-to-hand  strug- 
gle with  buckets  of  blood  marring  the  surrounding 
scenery,  and  a  beautiful  heroine  wringing  her  hands 
in  despair;  merely  a  rush  of  horses  and  men  out  of 
the  smoke,  a  brief  spasm  of  gtm-fire — it  was  begun 
and  ended  in  five  seconds.  But  there  were  two 
fallen  men,  and  Piegan  Smith  with  a  hole  through 


278  RAW   GOLD 


the  big  muscle  of  his  right  arm,  to  show  that  we  had 
fought. 

The  pack-horses,  with  no  riders  at  their  heels  to 
guide  them,  had  tangled  each  other  in  the  connect- 
ing-rope and  stopped.  Hicks  was  gone,  and  likely 
to  keep  going.  So  we  turned  our  attention  to  Greg- 
ory and  Bevans.  Gregory  was  dead  as  the  pro- 
verbial door-nail,  but  Bevans,  on  investigation, 
proved  to  be  very  much  alive — so  much  so  that  if 
he  had  not  been  partly  stunned  by  the  fall,  and  there- 
after pinned  to  the  ground  by  a  thousand-pound 
horse,  he  would  have  potted  one  or  two  of  us  with 
a  good  heart.  As  it  was,  we  reached  the  gentleman 
in  the  same  moment  that  he  made  a  heroic  effort  to 
lay  hold  of  the  carbine  which  had  luckily — for  us — 
fallen  beyond  the  length  of  his  arm. 

**Yuh  lay  down  there  an'  be  good !"  Piegan,  out 
of  the  fullness  of  his  heart,  emphasized  his  com- 
mand with  the  toe  of  his  boot.  "Where's  that  girl, 
yuh  swine?" 

"Go  to  hell !"  Bevans  snarled. 
'Here,"  MacRae  broke  in  hastily,  "we've  got  to 


tn 


RAW  GOLD  27& 


move  pretty  pronto,  and  get  across  the  river.  That 
fire  will  be  on  us  in  five  minutes.  Sarge  and  I  will 
gather  up  their  horses.  You  keep  an  eye  on  Bevans, 
Piegan;  he'll  answer  questions  fast  enough  when  I 
get  at  him." 

While  Mac  dashed  across  the  creek  I  captured 
Gregory's  horse,  which  had  stopped  when  his  rider 
fell;  and  as  I  laid  hand  on  the  reins  I  thought  I 
heard  a  shot  off  beyond  the  river.  But  I  couldn't 
be  certain.  The  whine  of  the  wind  that  comes  with 
a  fire,  the  crackle  of  the  fire  itself,  the  manifold 
sounds  that  echoed  between  the  canyon  walls  and 
the  pungent,  suffocating  smoke,  all  conspired 
against  clear  thinking  or  hearing.  I  listened  a  mo- 
ment, but  heard  no  more.  Then,  with  time  at  a 
premium,  I  hastened  to  straighten  out  the  tangle 
of  pack-animals.  Mac  loomed  up  in  the  general 
blur  with  Lessard's  body  on  his  horse,  as  I  led  the 
others  back  to  where  Piegan  stood  guard  over 
Bevans. 

"Ain't  this  hell !"  he  coughed.  "That  fire's  right 
on  top  of  us.    We  got  t'  make  the  river  in  a  hurry.'* 


280  RAW  GOLD 


It  was  another  minute's  work  to  lash  Gregory's 
body  on  one  of  the  pack-horses,  and  release  the 
sullen  Bevans  from  the  weight  of  his  dead  mount. 
As  an  afterthought,  I  looked  in  the  pockets  on  his 
saddle,  and  the  first  thing  I  discovered  was  a  wad 
of  paper  money  big  enough  to  choke  an  ox,  as  Pie- 
gan  would  say.  I  hadn't  the  time  to  investigate 
further,  so  I  simply  cut  the  anqueros  off  his  saddle 
and  flung  them  across  the  horn  of  my  own — and 
even  in  that  swirl  of  smoke  and  sparks  I  glowed 
with  a  sense  of  gratification,  for  it  seemed  that  at 
last  I  was  about  to  shake  hands  with  the  ten  thou- 
sand dollars  I  had  mourned  as  lost.  Then  Piegan 
and  I  drove  Bevans  ahead  of  us  and  moved  the 
spoils  of  war  to  the  river  brink,  while  MacRae  hur- 
ried to  the  Cottonwood  grove  after  our  own  neg- 
lected mounts;  they  had  given  us  too  good  service 
to  be  abandoned  to  the  holocaust. 

MacRae  soon  joined  us  with  the  three  horses; 
out  into  the  stream,  wading  till  the  water  gurgled 
around  our  waists,  we  led  the  bunch.    Then  we  were 


RAW  GOLD  281 


compelled  to  take  our  hats  and  slosh  water  over 
packs  and  saddles  till  they  were  soaked — for  the 
fire  was  ravaging  the  flat  we  had  just  left,  and 
showers  of  tiny  sparks  descended  upon  and  around 
us.  Thus  proof  against  the  fiery  baptism,  though 
still  half -strangled  by  the  smoke,  our  breathing  a 
succession  of  coughs,  we  mounted  and  pushed 
across. 

The  high  water  had  abated  and  the  river  was  now 
flowing  at  its  normal  stage,  some  three  hundred 
yards  in  width  and  nowhere  swimming-deep  on  the 
ford.  We  passed  beyond  spark-range  and  splashed 
out  on  a  sand-bar  that  jutted  from  the  southern 
bank.  Midway  between  the  lapping  water  and  the 
brush  that  lined  the  edge  of  the  flat,  a  dark  object 
became  visualized  in  the  shifting  gray  vapor.  We 
rode  to  it  and  pulled  up  in  amaze.  Patiently  await- 
ing the  pleasure  of  his  master,  as  a  good  cavalry 
horse  should,  was  the  bay  gelding  Hicks  had  rid- 
den; and  Hicks  himself  sprawled  in  the  sand  at  the 
end  of  the  bridle-reins.  I  got  down  and  looked  him 
over.    He  was  not  dead ;  far  from  it.    But  a  bullet 


282  RAW  GOLD 


had  scored  the  side  of  his  head  above  one  ear,  and 
he  was  down  and  out  for  the  time. 

We  stripped  the  pistol-belt  off  him,  and  a  knife. 
At  the  same  time  we  rendered  Bevans  incapable  of 
hostile  movement  by  anchoring  both  hands  securely 
behind  his  back  with  a  pack-rope.  That  done,  Pie- 
gan's  bleeding  arm  came  in  for  its  share  of  atten- 
tion.   Then  we  held  a  council  of  war. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

SPEECHLESS    HICKS. 

WHEN  I  Spoke  of  holding  a  council  of  war, 
I  did  so  largely  in  a  figurative  sense.  Lit- 
erally, we  set  about  reviving  Hicks,  with 
a  view  to  learning  from  him  what  had  become  of 
Lyn  Rowan.  He  and  Bevans  undoubtedly  knew, 
and  as  Bevans  persisted  in  his  defiant  suUenness, 
refusing  to  open  his  mouth  for  other  purpose  than 
to  curse  us  vigorously,  we  turned  to  Hicks.  A  lib- 
eral amount  of  water  dashed  in  his  face  aided  him 
to  recover  consciousness,  and  in  a  short  time  he  sat 
up  and  favored  us  with  a  scowl. 

"What  has  become  of  that  girl  you  took  away 
from  Baker's  freight-train  yesterday  morning?" 
MacRae  dispassionately  questioned. 

Hicks  glared  at  him  by  way  of  answer. 

"Hurry  up  and  find  your  tongue,"  MacRae 
prompted. 


284  RAW   GOLD 


"I  dunno  what  you're  drivin'  at,"  Hicks  dis- 
sembled. 

"You  will  know,  in  short  order,"  MacRae  re- 
torted, "if  you  harp  on  that  tune.  We've  got  you 
where  we  want  you,  and  I  rather  think  you'll  be 
glad  to  talk,  before  long.  I  ask  you  what  became 
of  that  girl  between  the  time  you  knifed  Goodell  and 
this  morning?" 

Hicks  started  at  mention  of  Goodell.  His  heavy 
face  settled  into  stubborn  lines.  He  blinked  under 
MacRae's  steady  look.  Of  a  sudden  he  sprang  to 
his  feet.  I  do  not  know  what  his  intention  may 
have  been,  but  he  got  little  chance  to  carry  out  any 
desperate  idea  that  took  form  in  his  brain,  for  Mac- 
Rae knocked  him  back  on  his  haunches  with  a  single 
blow  of  his  fist. 

"Answer  me,"  he  shouted,  "or  by  the  Lord!  I'll 
make  you  think  hell  is  a  pleasure-garden  compared 
to  this  sand-bar." 

"Kick  a  few  uh  his  ribs  out  uh  place  for  a 
starter,"  Piegan  coolly  advised.  "That'll  he'p  him 
remember  things." 


RAW  GOLD  285 


Yet  for  all  their  threats  Hicks  obstinately  refused 
to  admit  that  he  had  ever  seen  Lvn  Rowan.  What 
his  object  was  in  denying  knowledge  we  knew  he 
possessed  did  not  transpire  till  later.  He  knew  the 
game  was  lost,  so  far  as  he  was  concerned,  and  he 
was  mustering  his  forces  in  a  last  effort  to  save  him- 
self. And  MacRae's  patience  snapped  like  a  frayed 
thread  before  many  minutes  of  futile  query. 

"Get  me  a  rope  off  one  of  those  pack-horses, 
Sarge,"  he  snapped. 

I  brought  the  rope ;  and  I  will  brazenly  admit  that 
I  should  not  have  balked  at  helping  decorate  the 
limb  of  a  cottonwood  with  those  two  red-handed 
scoundrels.  But  I  was  not  prepared  for  the  turn 
MacRae  took.  Hicks  evidently  felt  that  there  was 
something  ominous  to  the  fore,  for  he  fought  like  a 
fiend  when  we  endeavored  to  apply  the  rope  to  his 
arms  and  legs.  There  was  an  almost  superhuman 
desperation  in  his  resistance,  and  while  MacRae  and 
I  hammered  and  choked  him  into  submission  Piegan 
gyrated  about  us  with  a  gun  in  his  left  hand,  beg- 
ging us  to  let  him  put  the  finishing  touches  to  Hicks. 


286  RAW  GOLD 


That,  however,  was  the  very  antithesis  of  MacRae's 
purpose. 

"I  don't  want  to  kill  him,  Piegan,"  he  said  point- 
edly, when  Hicks  was  securely  tied.  *'If  I  had,  do 
you  suppose  I'd  dirty  my  hands  on  him  in  that  sort 
of  a  scramble  when  I  know  how  to  use  a  gun?  I 
want  him  to  talk — you  understand? — and  he  will 
talk  before  I'm  through  with  him." 

There  was  a  peculiar  inflection  about  that  last 
sentence,  a  world  of  meaning  that  was  lost  on  me 
until  I  saw  Mac  go  to  the  brush  a  few  yards  dis- 
tant, return  with  an  armful  of  dry  willows  and 
place  them  on  the  sand  close  by  Hicks.  Without 
audible  comment  I  watched  him,  but  I  was  puzzled 
— at  first.  He  broke  the  dry  sticks  into  fragments 
across  his  knee;  when  he  had  a  fair-sized  pile  he 
took  out  his  knife  and  whittled  a  few  .shavings. 
Not  till  he  snapped  his  knife  shut  and  put  in  his 
pocket  and  began,  none  too  gently,  to  remove  the 
boots  from  Hicks'  feet,  did  I  really  comprehend 
what  he  was  about.  It  sent  a  shiver  through  me, 
and  even  old  Piegan  stood  aghast  at  the  malevolent 


RAW  GOLD  287 


determination  of  the  man.  But  we  voiced  no  pro- 
test. That  was  neither  the  time  nor  place  to  abide 
by  the  Golden  Rule.  Only  the  law  of  force,  ruth- 
less, inexorable,  would  compel  speech  from  Hicks. 
And  since  they  would  recognize  no  authority  save 
that  of  force,  it  seemed  meet  and  just  to  deal  with 
them  as  they  had  dealt  with  us.  So  Piegan  Smith 
and  I  stood  aloof  and  watched  the  grim  play,  for 
the  fate  of  a  woman  hung  in  the  balance.  Hicks' 
salient  jaw  was  set,  his  expression  unreadable. 

MacRae  stacked  the  dry  wood  in  a  neat  pyramid 
twelve  inches  from  the  bare  soles  of  Hicks'  feet. 
He  placed  the  shavings  in  the  edge  of  the  little  pile. 
Then  he  stood  up  and  began  to  talk,  fingering  a 
match  with  horrible  suggestiveness. 

"Perhaps  you  think  that  by  keeping  a  close  mouth 
there's  a  chance  to  get  out  of  some  of  the  deviltry 
you've  had  a  hand  in  lately.  But  there  isn't.  You'll 
get  what's  coming  to  you.  And  in  case  you're  bol- 
stering up  your  nerve  with  false  hopes  in  that  direc- 
tion, let  me  tell  you  that  we  know  exactly  how  you 
turned  every  trick.    I  don't  particularly  care  to  take 


288  RAW   GOLD 


the  law  into  my  own  hands;  I'd  rather  take  you  in 
and  turn  you  over  to  the  guard.  But  there's  a 
woman  to  account  for  yet,  and  so  you  can  take  your 
choice  between  the  same  deal  you  gave  Hans  Rutter 
and  telling  me  what  became  of  her." 

He  paused  for  a  moment.  Hicks  stared  up  at  him 
calculatingly. 

"I'll  tell  you  all  I  know  about  it  if  you  turn  me 
loose,"  he  said.  "Give  me  a  horse  and  a  chance  to 
pull  my  freight,  and  I'll  talk.  Otherwise,  I'm 
dumb." 

'Til  make  no  bargains  with  you,'*  MacRae  an- 
swered.   "Talk  or  take  the  consequences." 

Hicks  shook  his  head.  MacRae  coughed — the 
smoke  was  still  rolling  in  thick  clouds  from  over 
the  river — and  went  on. 

"Perhaps  it  will  make  my  meaning  clearer  if  I 
tell  you  what  happened  to  Rutter,  eh?  You  and 
Gregory  got  him  after  he  was  wounded,  didn't  you? 
He  wouldn't  tell  where  that  stuff  had  been  cached. 
But  you  had  a  way  of  loosening  a  man's  tongue — 
I  have  you  to  thank  for  the  idea.    Oh,  it  was  a  good 


RAW  GOLD  289 


one,  but  that  old  Dutchman  was  harder  stuff  than 
you're  made  of.  You  built  a  fire  and  warmed  his 
feet.  Still  he  wouldn't  talk,  so  you  warmed  them 
some  more.  Fine!  But  you  didn't  suppose  you'd 
ever  get  your  feet  warmed.  I'm  not  asking  much 
of  you,  and  you'll  be  no  deeper  in  the  mire  when 
you  answer.  If  you  don't — well,  there's  plenty  of 
wood  here.  Will  you  tell  me  what  I  want  to  know, 
or  shall  I  light  the  fire?'* 

Still  no  word  from  Hicks.  MacRae  bent  and 
raked  the  match  along  a  flat  stone. 

"Oh,  well,"  he  said  indifferently,  "maybe  you'll 
think  better  of  it  when  your  toes  begin  to  sizzle." 

He  thrust  the  flaring  match  among  the  shavings. 
As  the  flame  crept  in  among  the  broken  willows, 
Hicks  raised  his  head. 

"If  I  tell  you  what  become  of  her,  will  you  let 
me  go?"  he  proposed  again.  "I'll  quit  the  coun- 
try." 

''You'll  tell  me — or  cook  by  inches,  right  here," 
Mac  answered  deliberately.  "You  can't  buy  me 
off." 


290  RAW   GOLD 


The  blaze  flickered  higher.  I  watched  it,  with 
every  fiber  of  my  being  revolting  against  such  sav- 
agery, and  the  need  for  it.  I  glanced  at  Piegan  and 
Bevans.  The  one  looked  on  with  grim  repression, 
the  other  with  blanched  face.  And  suddenly  Hicks 
jerked  up  his  knees  and  heaved  himself  bodily  aside 
with  a  scream  of  fear. 

"Put  it  out !  Put  it  out !"  he  cried.  "I'll  tell  you. 
For  God's  sake — anything  but  the  fire!" 

"Be  quick,  then,"  MacRae  muttered,  "before  I 
move  you  back." 

"Last  night,"  Hicks  gasped,  "when  we  pulled  into 
the  gorge  to  camp,  she  jerked  the  six-shooter  out 
tih  Lessard's  belt  and  made  a  run  for  it.  She  took 
to  the  brush.  It  was  dark,  and  we  couldn't  follow 
her.  I  don't  know  where  she  got  to,  except  that  she 
started  down  the  creek.  We  hunted  for  her  half  the 
night — didn't  see  nothin'.     That's  the  truth,  s'help 


me. 


«i 


'Down  the  creek — say,  by  the  great  Jehosophat !" 
Piegan  exclaimed.  "D'yuh  remember  that  racket  in 
the  water  this  mornin'?     Yuh  wait."     He  turned 


RAW  GOLD  291 


and  ran  down-stream.  Almost  instantly  the  smoke 
had  swallowed  him. 

MacRae  stood  staring  for  a  second  or  two,  then 
turned  and  scattered  the  fire  broadcast  on  the  sand 
with  a  movement  of  his  foot.  He  lifted  his  hat,  and 
I  saw  that  his  forehead  and  hair  was  damp  with 
sweat. 

"That  was  a  job  I  had  mighty  little  stomach  for," 
he  said,  catching  my  eye  and  smiling  faintly.  "I 
thought  that  sulky  brute  would  come  through  if  I 
made  a  strong  bluff.  I  reckon  I'd  have  weakened  in 
another  minute,  if  he  hadn't." 

"Ugh!"  I  shuddered.  "It  gave  me  the  creeps. 
I  wouldn't  miake  a  good  Indian." 

"Nor  I,"  he  agreed.  "But  I  had  to  know.  And 
I  feel  better  now.  I'm  not  afraid  for  Lyn,  since  I 
know  she  got  away  from  them." 

Piegan,  at  this  moment,  set  up  a  jubilant  halloo- 
ing down  the  river,  and  shortly  came  rushing  back 
to  us. 

"Aha,  I  told  yuh,"  he  cried  exultantly.  "That 
was  her  crossed  the  river  this  mornin'.    I  found  her 


292  RAW  GOLD 


track  in  the  sand.  One  uh  yuh  stand  guard,  and 
the  other  feller  come  with  me.     We  c'n  trail  her." 

"Go  ahead,"  I  told  MacRae — a  superfluous  com- 
mand, for  I  could  not  have  kept  him  from  going  if 
I  had  tried. 

So  I  was  left  on  the  sand-bar  with  two  dead 
thieves,  and  two  who  should  have  been  dead,  and 
a  little  knot  of  horses  for  company.  Hicks  and 
Bevans  gave  me  little  concern.  I  had  helped  tie 
both  of  them,  and  I  knew  they  would  not  soon  get 
loose.  But  it  was  a  weary  wait.  An  hour  fled. 
I  paced  the  bar,  a  carbine  in  the  crook  of  my  arm 
and  a  vigilant  eye  for  incipient  outbreaks  for  free- 
dom on  the  part  of  those  two  wolves.  The  horses 
stood  about  on  three  legs,  heads  drooping.  The 
smoke-clouds  swayed  and  eddied,  lifted  a  mom.ent, 
and  closed  down  again  with  the  varying  spasms  of 
the  fire  that  was  beating  itself  out  on  the  farther 
shore.  I  sat  me  down  and  rested  a  while,  arose 
and  resumed  my  nervous  tramping.  The  foglike 
haze  began  to  thin.  It  became  possible  to  breathe 
without  discomfort  to  the  lungs ;  my  eyes  no  longer 


RAW  GOLD  293 


stung  and  watered.  And  after  a  period  in  which  I 
seemed  to  have  walked  a  thousand  miles  on  that 
sandy  point,  I  heard  voices  in  the  distance.  Pres- 
ently MacRae  and  Piegan  Smith  broke  through  the 
willow  fringe  on  the  higher  ground — and  with  them 
appeared  a  feminine  figure  that  waved  a  hand  to 
me. 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

THE   SPOILS   OF    WAR. 

ALL  things  considered,  it  was  a  joyous  knot  of 
humanity  that  gathered  on  that  sand-bar — 
if  one  excepts  the  two  pkmderers  who  were 
tied  hard  and  fast,  their  most  cheerful  outlook  a 
speedy  trial  with  a  hangman's  noose  at  the  finish. 
I  recollect  that  we  shook  hands  all  around,  and  that 
our  tongues  wagged  extravagantly,  regardless  of 
whoever  else  might  be  speaking.  We  settled  down 
before  long,  however,  remembering  that  we  were 
not  altogether  out  of  the  woods. 

The  fire  by  this  time  had,  to  a  great  extent,  beaten 
itself  out  on  the  opposite  bank,  and  with  nothing 
left  but  a  few  smoldering  brush-patches,  the  smoke 
continued  to  lift  and  give  us  sundry  glimpses  of  the 
black  desolation  that  spread  to  the  north.  So  far 
as  we  knew,  the  wind  had  carried  no  sparks  across 
the  river  to  fire  the  south  side  and  drive  us  back  to 


RAW  GOLD  295 


the  barrenness  of  the  burned  lands.  And  with  the 
certainty  that  Lyn  was  safe,  and  that  we  were  be- 
yond disputing  masters  of  the  situation,  came  con- 
sciousness of  hunger  and  great  bodily  weariness. 
It  was  almost  twent3^-four  hours  since  we  had  eaten, 
and  we  were  simply  ravenous.  As  a  start  toward 
an  orderly  method  of  procedure,  we  began  by  re- 
dressing Piegan's  punctured  arm,  which  had  begun 
to  bleed  again ;  though  it  was  by  no  means  as  serious 
a  hurt  as  it  might  have  been.  Piegan  himself 
seemed  to  consider  it  a  good  deal  of  a  joke  on  him, 
and  when  I  remarked  that  I  failed  to  see  how  a 
bullet-hole  through  any  part  of  one's  person  could 
be  regarded  in  a  humorous  light,  Piegan  snorted, 
and  told  me  that  I  would  know  more  when  I  grew 
tip.  A  little  ventilation,  he  declared,  was  some- 
thing a  man's  system  needed  every  year  or  two. 

Then  we  unsaddled  and  unpacked  the  horses,  and 
moved  them  up  on  the  grassy  flat.  Piegan  elected 
himself  guard  over  the  prisoners,  while  the  rest  of 
us  cooked  a  belated  breakfast,  and  he  assured  them 
repeatedly  that  he  would  be  delighted  to  have  them 


296  RAW  GOLD 


make  a  break,  so  that  he  could  have  the  pleasure  of 
perforating  their  individual  and  collective  hides.  I 
really  believe  the  old  rascal  meant  it,  too:  he  suc- 
ceeded, at  least,  in  giving  that  impression,  and  his 
crippled  arm  was  no  handicap  to  him — he  could 
juggle  a  six-shooter  right  or  left-handed  with 
amazing  dexterity. 

Lyn  substantiated  Goodell's  story  in  every  detail, 
so  far  as  it  had  dealt  with  her,  and  she  told  me, 
while  we  pottered  about  the  fire,  how  she  waited  her 
chance  when  they  made  camp  in  Sage  Creek,  and, 
snatching  Lessard's  gun,  ran  for  it  in  the  dark. 

"I  didn't  really  know  where  I  was,"  she  told  me 
naively.  "So  I  thought  I'd  better  hide  till  daylight 
and  watch  them  go  before  I  started.  Then  I  could 
try  and  make  my  way  back  to  the  freight  outfit — I 
felt  sure  they  would  either  wait  for  me  or  send  a 
man  back  to  Walsh  when  I  didn't  come  back.  I 
was  hiding  in  those  cottonwoods  when  you  came 
stealing  in  there  this  morning.  You  were  so  quiet, 
I  couldn't  tell  who  it  was — I  thought  perhaps  they 
were  still  hunting  for  me;  they  did,  you  know — • 


RAW  GOLD  297 


they  were  rummaging  around  after  me  for  a  long 
time.  But  I  never  dreamed  it  could  be  you  and 
Gordon.  So  I  sneaked  down  to  the  river  and 
crossed;  I  was  deadly  afraid  they'd  find  me,  and  I 
thought  once  I  was  on  the  other  side  I  could  hear 
them  coming,  and  scuttle  away  in  the  brush.  Then 
about  daylight  I  heard  some  shooting,  and  won- 
dered if  they  had  been  followed.  I  didn't  dare  cross 
the  river  and  start  over  the  hills  with  that  fire  com- 
ing, and  the  smoke  so  thick  I  couldn't  tell  a  hill 
from  a  hollow.  I  waited  a  while  longer — I  was  in 
this  brush  up  here" — she  pointed  to  a  place  almost  | 

opposite — "and  in  a  little  while  I  heard  more  shoot- 
ing, and  in  a  minute  or  so,  he" — indicating  Hicks —  j 
"came  splashing  through  the  river.    He  was  on  the  ' 
sand-bar  before  I  could  see  him  clearly,  and  coming 

straight  toward  where  I  was  huddled  in  the  brush.  ■ 

i 
Oh,  but  I  was  frightened,  and  before  I  knew  it,  al-  ; 

most,  I  poked  the  gun  between  the  branches  and  1 

fired  at  his  head  as  straight  as  I  could — and  he  fell  ' 

off  his  horse.    Then  I  ran,  before  any  more  of  them  i 

I 
came.     And  that's  really  all  there  is  to  it.     I  was  i 


'298  RAW  GOLD 


'hi 


plodding  up  the  river,  when  I  heard  Gordon  shout- 
ing  two  or  three  hundred  yards  behind.  Of  course 
I  knew  his  voice,  and  stopped.  But  dear  me!  this 
seems  like  a  bad  dream,  or  maybe  I  ought  to  say  a 
good  one.  I  hope  you  won't  all  disappear  in  the 
smoke." 

"Don't  you  worry,"  MacRae  assured  her.  "When 
we  vanish  in  the  smoke  we'll  take  you  with  us." 

After  we  had  eaten  we  made  a  systematic  search 
of  packs  and  saddle-pockets,  and  when  we  had  fin- 
ished there  was  more  of  the  root  of  all  evil  in  sight 
than  I  have  laid  my  eyes  on  at  any  one  time  before 
or  since.  The  gold  that  had  drawn  us  into  the 
game  was  there  in  the  same  long,  buckskin  sacks,  a 
load  for  one  horse.  The  government  money,  looted 
from  the  paymaster,  part  gold  coin  and  part  bills, 
they  had  divided,  and  it  was  stowed  in  various 
places.  Lessard's  saddle-pockets  were  crammed, 
and  likewise  those  of  Hicks  and  Gregory.  Bevans* 
anqueros,  which  I  had  taken  from  his  dead  horse, 
yielded  a  goodly  sum.    Altogether,  we  counted  some 


RAW  GOLD  299 


seventy-odd  thousand  dollars,  exclusive  of  the  gold- 
dust  in  the  sacks. 

"There's  a  good  deal  more  than  that,  according 
to  Goodell's  figures,"  MacRae  commented.  "Les- 
sard  must  have  got  away  with  quite  a  sum  from 
the  post.  I  daresay  the  pockets  of  the  combination 
hold  the  rest.  But  I  don't  hanker  to  search  a  dead 
man,  and  that  can  wait  till  we  get  to  Walsh." 

"Yuh  goin'  t'  lug  this  coyote  bait  t'  Fort  Walsh?" 
Piegan  inquired.  "I'd  leave  *em  right  here  without 
the  ceremony  uh  plantin'.    An'  I  vote  right  here  an' 


now  t'  neck  these  other  two  geesers  together  an' 
run  'em  off'n  a  high  bank  into  deep  water." 

"I'd  vote  with  you,  so  far  as  my  personal  feeling 
in  the  matter  goes,"  MacRae  replied.  "But  we've 
got  a  lot  of  mighty  black  marks  against  us,  right 
now,  and  we're  going  in  there  to  relate  a  most 
amazing  tale.  Of  course,  we  can  prove  every  word 
of  it.  But  I  reckon  we'll  have  to  take  these  two  car- 
casses along  as  a  sort  of  corroborative  evidence. 
Every  confounded  captain  in  the  Force  will  have  to 
view  them  officially;  they  wouldn't  take  our  word 


300  RAW  GOLD 


for  their  being  dead.  So  it  would  only  delay  the 
clearing  up  of  things  to  leave  them  here.  These 
other  jaspers  will  lend  a  fine  decorative  effect  to 
the  noosed  end  of  a  three-quarter-inch  rope  for  their 
part  in  the  play — unless  Canadian  justice  miscarries, 
which  doesn't  often  happen  if  you  give  it  time 
enough  to  get  at  the  root  of  things.'* 

Much  as  we  had  accomplished,  we  still  had  a 
problem  or  two  ahead  of  us.  While  we  didn't 
reckon  on  having  to  defend  ourselves  against  the 
preposterous  charge  of  holding  up  the  paymaster, 
there  was  that  little  matter  of  violent  assault  on  the 
persons  of  three  uniformed  representatives  of 
Northwestern  law — assault,  indeed,  with  deadly 
weapons;  also  the  forcible  sequestration  of  govern- 
ment property  in  the  shape  of  three  troop-horses 
with  complete  riding  appurtenances ;  the  uttering  of 
threats;  all  of  which  was  strictly  against  the  peace 
and  dignity  of  the  Crown  and  the  statutes  made 
and  provided.  No  man  is  supposed,  as  MacRae  had 
pointed  out  to  me  after  we'd  held  up  those  three 
troopers,  to  inflict  a  compound  fracture  on  one  law 


RAW  GOLD  301 


in  his  efforts  to  preserve  another.  But  it  had  been 
necessary  for  us  to  do  so,  and  we  had  justified  our 
judgment  in  playing  a  lone  hand  and  upsetting  Les- 
sard's  smoothly  conceived  plan  to  lay  us  by  the  heels 
while  he  and  his  thugs  got  away  with  the  plunder. 
We  had  broken  up  as  hard  a  combination  as  ever 
matched  itself  against  the  scarlet-coated  keepers  of 
the  law;  we  had  gathered  them  in  with  the  loot 
intact,  and  for  this  signal  service  we  had  hopes 
that  the  powers  that  be  would  overlook  the  break 
we  made  on  Lost  River  ridge.  Lessard  had  created 
a  damnatory  piece  of  evidence  against  himself  by 
lifting  the  post  funds;  that  in  itself  would  bear  wit- 
ness to  the  truth  of  our  story.  It  might  take  the 
authorities  a  while  to  get  the  proper  focus  on  the 
tangle,  but  we  could  stand  that,  seeing  that  we  had 
won  against  staggering  odds. 

From  the  mouth  of  Sage  Creek  to  Fort  Walsh  It 
is  a  fraction  over  fifty  miles,  across  comparatively 
flat  country.  By  the  time  our  breakfast  was  done 
we  calculated  it  to  be  ten  o'clock.  We  had  the  half 
of  a  long  mid-summer  day  to  make  it.     So,  partly. 


302  RAW  GOLD 


because  we  might  find  the  full  fifty  miles  an  ash- 
strewn  waste,  fodderless,  blackened,  where  an  after- 
noon halt  would  be  a  dreary  sojourn,  and  partly  for 
the  sake  of  the  three  good  horses  we  had  pushed  so 
unmercifully  through  the  early  hours  of  the  night, 
we  laid  on  the  grassy  river-bottom  till  noon.  Then 
we  packed,  placed  the  sullen  captives  in  the  saddle 
with  hands  lashed  stoutly,  mounted  our  horses  and 
recrossed  the  river.  Once  on  the  uplands  we  struck 
the  long  trot — eight  hours  of  daylight  to  make  fifty 
miles.    And  we  made  it. 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

THE   PIPE   OF   PEACE. 

TWENTY  minutes  after  the  sunset  gun  awoke 
the  echoes  along  Battle  Creek  we  slipped 
quietly  into  Fort  Walsh  and  drew  rein  be- 
fore the  official  quarters  of  the  officer  of  the  day;  a 
stiffened,  saddle-weary  group,  grimy  with  the  sooty 
ash  of  burned  prairies.  From  the  near-by  barracks 
troopers  craned  through  windows,  and  gathered  in 
doorways.  For  a  moment  I  thought  the  office  was 
deserted,  but  before  we  had  time  to  dismount,  the 
captain  ranking  next  to  Lessard  appeared  from 
within,  and  behind  him  came  a  medium-sized  man, 
gray-haired  and  pleasant  of  countenance,  at  sight  of 
whom  MacRae  straightened  in  his  saddle  with  a 
stifled  exclamation  and  repeated  the  military  salute. 
The  captain  stared  in  frank  astonishment  as  Mac- 
Rae got  stiffly  out  of  his  saddle  and  helped  Lyn  to 
the  ground.    Then  he  snapped  out  some  sharp  ques- 


304  RAW  GOLD 


tion,  but  the  gray-haired  one  silenced  him  with  a 
gesture. 

"Softly,  softly,  Stone,"  he  said.  "Let  the  man 
explain  voluntarily." 

"Beg  to  report,  sir,"  MacRae  began  evenly,  "that 
we  have  captured  the  men  who  robbed  Flood,  mur- 
dered those  two  miners,  and  held  up  the  paymaster. 
Also  that  we  have  recovered  all  the  stolen  money." 

"What  sort  of  cock-and-bull  story  is  this  ?"  Stone 
broke  in  angrily.  "Preposterous!  Orderly, 
call " 


"Easy,  easy  now.  Captain  Stone,"  the  older  man 
cut  in  sharply.  "A  man  doesn't  make  a  statement 
like  that  without  some  proof.  By  the  way,"  he 
asked  abruptly,  "how  did  you  manage  to  elude  Ma- 
jor Lessard  and  get  in  here  ?" 

MacRae  pointed  to  one  of  the  horses.  "We 
didn't  elude  him.  You'll  find  what's  left  of  the 
black-hearted  devil  under  that  canvas,"  he  answered 
coolly.  "Lessard  was  at  the  bottom  of  the  crooked- 
ness. We've  packed  him  and  Paul  Gregory  fifty 
miles  for  you  to  see." 


RAW  GOLD  305 


"Ha!"  the  old  fellow  seemed 'not  so  surprised  as 
I  had  expected.  He  glanced  over  the  lot  of  us  and 
let  another  long-drawn  "ha"  escape. 

"May  I  ask  a  favor,  Colonel  Allen?"  MacRae 
continued.  "This  lady  has  had  a  hard  day.  Will 
you  excuse  her,  for  the  present?  We  have  a  story 
to  tell  that  you  may  find  hard  to  credit." 

The  colonel  (I'd  heard  of  him  before;  I  knew 
when  MacRae  spoke  his  name  that  he  was  Com- 
mander-in-Chief of  the  Northwest  Mounted  Police, 
the  biggest  gun  of  all)  favored  us  with  another  ap- 
praising stare. 

"These  men,  I  take  it,  are  prisoners?"  he  said^ 
pointing  to  Hicks  and  Bevans. 

"You  bet  your  sweet  life  them's  prisoners,"  Pi- 
egan  broke  in  with  cheerful  assurance.  "Them  gen- 
tlemen is  candidates  for  a  rope  necktie  apiece — 
nice  perfessional  assassins  t'  have  in  the  Police !" 

Allen  turned  to  the  orderly.  "A  detail  of  four 
from  the  guardhouse  on  the  double-quick,"  he  com- 
manded. 

Captain  Stone  stood  by  gnawing  his  mustache 


306  RAW  GOLD 


while  Allen  listened  unmoved  as  MacRae  pointed 
out  the  horse  on  which  was  packed  the  bulk  of  the 
loot,  and  gave  him  a  brief  outline  of  the  abduction 
and  the  subsequent  fight  at  the  mouth  of  Sage 
Creek.  The  orderly  returned  with  the  detail,  and 
Allen  courteously  sent  him  to  escort  Lyn  to  the 
liospitality  of  Bat  Perkins'  wife,  as  MacRae  asked. 
After  which  the  guard  marshaled  Piegan,  MacRae, 
and  me,  along  with  Hicks  and  Bevans,  into  the  room 
where  MacRae  and  Lessard  had  clashed  that  mem- 
orable day.  Then  they  carried  in  the  two  bodies 
and  laid  them  on  the  floor,  and  last  of  all  the  pack 
that  held  Hank  Rowan's  gold  and  the  government 
currency. 

While  this  was  being  done  an  orderly  flitted  from 
house  to  house  on  oflicers'  row;  the  calm,  pleasant- 
voiced,  shrewd  old  Commissioner  gathered  his  cap- 
tains about  him  for  a  semi-oflicial  hearing.  The 
dusk  faded  into  night.  Here  and  there  about  the 
post  lights  began  to  twinkle.  We  stood  about  in 
the  ante-room,  silent  under  the  vigilant  eye  of  the 
guard.     After  an  uncertain  period  of  waiting,  the 


RAW  GOLD  307 


orderly  called  "Gordon  MacRae,"  and  the  inquisi- 
tion began. 

One  at  a  time  they  put  us  on  the  rack — probing 
each  man's  story  down  to  the  smallest  detail.  It 
was  long  after  midnight  when  the  questioning  was 
at  an  end.  The  finale  came  when  a  trooper  searched 
the  bodies  of  Lessard  and  Gregory,  and  relieved 
Hicks  and  Bevans  of  the  plunder  that  was  still  con- 
cealed about  their  persons.  They  counted  the 
money  solemnly,  on  the  same  desk  by  which  Les- 
sard stood  when  MacRae  flung  that  hot  challenge 
in  his  teeth,  and  lost  his  stripes  as  the  penalty.  Out- 
side, the  wind  arose  and  whoo-^^-ed  around  the 
corner  of  the  log  building;   inside,   there  was   a 

strained  quiet,  broken  only  by  the  occasional  rattle 
of  a  loose  window,  the  steady  chink — chink  of  coin 
slipping  through  fingers,  the  crisp  rustle  of  bills, 
like  new  silk.  And  when  it  was  done  Allen  leaned 
back  in  his  chair,  patting  the  arm  of  it  with  one 
hand,  and  surveyed  the  neatly  piled  money  and  the 
three  buckskin  sacks  on  the  desk  before  him.    Then 


308  RAW  GOLD 


he  stood  up,  very  erect  and  stern  in  the  yellow  lamp- 
light. 

"Take  those  men  to  the  guardhouse,"  he  ordered 
curtly,  pointing  an  accusing  finger  at  Hicks  and 
Bevans.     "Iron  them  securely — securely!" 

He  turned  to  me.  "I  regret  that  it  will  be  neces- 
sary for  you  to  wait  some  little  time,  Flood,  before 
your  money  can  be  restored  to  you,"  he  said  in  a 
pleasanter  tone.  "There  will  be  certain  formalities 
to  go  through,  you  understand.  You  will  also  be 
required  as  a  witness  at  the  forthcoming  trial.  We 
shall  be  glad  to  furnish  you  and  Smith  with  com- 
fortable quarters  until  then.  It  is  late,  but  MacRae 
knows  these  barracks,  and  doubtless  he  can  find 
you  a  temporary  sleeping  place.  And,  in  conclusion, 
I  wish  to  compliment  all  three  of  you  on  the  courage 
and  resource  you  displayed  in  tracking  down  these 
damnable  scoundrels — damnable  scoundrels." 

He  fairly  exploded  that  last  phrase.  I  daresay 
it  was  something  of  a  blow  to  his  pride  in  the  Force 
to  learn  that  such  deviltry  had  actually  been  fathered 
by  one  of  his  trusted  officers;  something  the  same 


RAW  GOLD  309 


sorrowful  anger  that  stirs  a  man  when  one  of  his 
own  kin  goes  wrong.  Then,  as  if  he  were  half- 
ashamed  of  his  burst  of  feeling,  he  dismissed  us 
with  a  wave  of  his  hand  and  a  gruff  "That's  all,  to- 
night." 

^^^  ^^*  ^^^  ^^^  ^^^  ^^^  ^^^ 

That  practically  was  the  finish  of  the  thing. 
There  was,  of  course,  a  trial,  at  which  Hicks  and 
Bevans  were  convicted  out  of  hand  and  duly  sen- 
tenced  to  be  hung — a  sentence  that  was  carried  out 
with  neatness  and  despatch  in  the  near  future.  Also, 
I  did  manage,  in  the  fullness  of  time,  to  deliver  La 
Pere's  ten  thousand  dollars  without  further  gun- 
play. 

Colonel  Allen  knew  a  good  man  when  he  saw 
one — he  was  not  long  in  demonstrating  that  fact. 
When  everything  was  straightened  out,  MacRae — > 
urged  thereto  by  Lyn — made  a  straightforward  re- 
quest for  honorable  discharge.  But  he  did  not  get 
it.  Instead,  the  gray-haired  Commissioner  calmly 
offered  him  promotion  to  an  Inspectorship,  which 
is  equivalent  to  the  rank  of  a  captain,  and  carries 


310  RAW  GOLD 


pay  of  two  thousand  a  year.     And  MacRae,  of 

course,  accepted. 

The  day  he  cast  off  the  old  red  jacket  of  the  rank 

and  file  and  put  on  the  black  uniform  with  braid 

looped  back  and  forth  across  the  front  of  it,  and 

gold  hieroglyphics  on  the  collar,  Piegan  Smith  and 

I  stood  up  with  him  and  Lyn  and  helped  them  get 

fitted  to  double  harness.     Not  that  there  was  any 

lack  of  other  folk;  indeed,  it  seemed  to  me  that 

the  official  contingent  of  Fort  Walsh  had  turned 

out  en  masse  to  attend  the  ceremony.     But  Piegan 

and  I  were  the  star  guests. 

*  *  *  *  ♦  *  * 

Ah,  well,  we  can't  always  be  young  and  full  of 
the  pure  joy  of  living.  One  must  grow  old.  And 
inevitably  one  looks  back  with  a  pang,  and  sighs 
'for  the  vanished  days.  But  Time  keeps  his  scythe 
a-swinging,  and  we  go  out — like  a  snuffed  candle. 
We  lived,  though,  we  who  frolicked  along  the  forty- 
ninth  parallel  when  Civilization  stood  afar  and 
viewed  the  scene  askance ;  but  she  came  down  upon 
tis  and  took  possession  fast  enough  when  that  wild* 


RAW  GOLD  3111 


land  was  partly  tamed,  and  now  few  are  left  of 
those  who  knew  and  loved  the  old  West,  its  perils, 
its  hardships,  its  bigness  of  heart  and  readiness  of 
hand.  Such  of  us  as  remain  are  like  the  buffalo 
penned  in  national  parks — a  sorry  remnant  of  the 
days  that  were. 

THE   END. 


I 


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